


The Flap of a Hummingbird's Wing

by ineedyoursway



Category: Southern Vampire Mysteries - Charlaine Harris, True Blood (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:34:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 125,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23108566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineedyoursway/pseuds/ineedyoursway
Summary: Eric and Sookie have been in love for nearly a thousand years. Until, one day, she doesn’t know who he is.
Relationships: Eric Northman/Sookie Stackhouse
Comments: 148
Kudos: 243





	1. Smoke and Stars

****

**Scandinavia, 950**

Sookie was alone.

Her long, flaxen hair wove through the tall grass, intermingling with the stalks, a braid of greens and browns and yellows. She lay on bright moss, soft as the feathers of a young chick. She loved the forests of the north, their romance and their wonder. She found refuge here often, hiding from the world. Her eyes mirrored the sky, the rivers, the lakes and the streams. A crystalline blue that swirled in pockets, an ever-moving dance around flecks of dark grey stone. The air was warm and the days at their longest, night only a tentative suggestion for a few hours of hazy dark. She basked in the glow, in the solitude, in the knowledge that she alone commanded this peace. 

Her cheeks were ruddy from her walk to the sunlit field. No humans came this way. According to folklore that permeated the local village, there were dangers that lurked in the wood. Some stories were false, some exaggerated, some shockingly exacting in their truths. Stories of witches, of fairies, of dragons. Stories of vampires. Sookie parsed them as she heard them, filtering out the gossips and honing in on the reality in her unique way. These stories gave her the lay of the land when she visited, they alone told of the secret world in which she, too, belonged. 

The village nearest to her now was less of a town and more of a settlement, a few families attempting to farm the fickle land and make homes for themselves after years of Viking pillagers decimating the coastal communities. They were refugees, searching for peace in a time of endless, uncompromising war. Though the people lived in daily fear they still took her in, small and alone and seemingly harmless. She made their beds and swept their floors, living a life of respectful solitude, protecting them behind closed doors, fending off the dark while they slept.

The sun was tilting toward the treeline and she knew it would be time to get back soon. She stood up, examining the imprint her body left in the grass, the thin limbs arced outward, legs long. Her fair, naked skin was marked along the back, little horizontal slashes of red where the foliage pressed deep, looking for all the world like scars from bloody wounds gone by. She covered them with the conservative linen shift, tied tight in the front with her coveted strip of leather. She preferred to walk barefoot, carrying her boots in one hand, dragging them against the snapping twigs and dried leaves as she made her way leisurely from the dense wood and back to the outcropping of huts. A few of the villagers looked up at her arrival, giving her welcome nods and glancing inquisitively at her naked feet. To them, she was much too old for such inclinations; frivolity was for the youth and no one else. It was a hard life to lead and in such a beautiful place to lead it.

“Hello,” she said, making herself small and meek. Her North Germanic languages were rusty at best, especially due to the fact that the words tended to change and meld depending on where she was or to whom she was talking. She didn’t mind though, she was used to the life of a nomad and eager to solve the next puzzle placed before her. 

“Sookie!” a young girl called, racing out of a thatch door, weaving around a firepit, landing in her arms. 

“Ingrid,” she smiled, scooping the girl up and hugging her close, spinning her round as she knew she liked best. Her hair was wild, knotted, so blonde it neared white. Her eyes glinted in the dying light of the sun. She was only six or seven, prone to scrapes and mischief, a child after Sookie’s own heart. She was also one of the main reasons Sookie couldn’t help but stay in the village for as long as she had. Something about Ingrid tugged at her somewhere deep and undeniable. Somewhere impossible to ignore. Ingrid grinned, showing off the gap in her front teeth, the little fleck of white as her new adult tooth began to come in. She would grow to be a great beauty, should she live to see it. Sookie put her down, licking her fingers and wiping the soot off of Ingrid’s still pudgy baby cheeks. 

“Have you been playing in the fire pit?” Sookie asked with a gentle scold, clucking her tongue and placing her hands on her hips.

“No,” Ingrid denied, the picture of affected innocence, locking her ash-covered hands behind her back. “We will make the flower crowns now? For me, as a princess. And you will finish your story.”

Sookie laughed, petting the girl’s flyaways down as best she could. Ingrid was one of eight children, her mother dying in childbirth during the last, and she desperately clung to Sookie for the attention and companionship. And, of course, Sookie simply couldn’t deny her. 

“So many demands,” Sookie said, though she grabbed the girl’s hand and pulled her along to the open, rolling field in front of the village. Though trekked through with footprints and the thin, weaving tracks of carts, the slope still boasted an abundance of wild daisies, their hearts of yellow and petals of white tipped with pink. “Help me gather,” she ordered as Ingrid ran around wildly, a child of the sun, tugging flowers haphazardly as she went. Sookie settled herself down, waiting until Ingrid dumped a handful of daisies in her lap. 

She picked one up, its stem thin and green, leaking the moisture of life at its tip. She stuck out her tongue and tasted the liquid out of respect, humming thoughtfully. Sweet and of the earth. She showed Ingrid how to wrap the stem around her finger, creating a bow in which to loop the next flower, growing an increasingly lengthy chain of delicate blooms. Ingrid followed along as best she could, her small hands clumsy and dark with soot, her forehead pursed in undivided concentration as Sookie helped her through it. When the chain grew long enough, Sookie closed the loop with a final knot and placed it on Ingrid’s head. It was a bit too large and draped down through her hair, hooking in the tops of her ears. She spun, her small dress blowing outward at the bottom.

“Now I am a proper princess,” Ingrid said confidently.

“You were that already. You did not need a crown,” Sookie said, pulling the girl into her lap. Ingrid gazed up at her, grabbing the tips of Sookie’s blonde hair when they brushed her face.

“Now you will finish your story.”

Sookie smiled, trying to recall the one.

“Once upon a time, there was a girl...” she began.

“No, no,” Ingrid interrupted. “This part I know. The princess was at home with the family.”

“Ah, yes,” Sookie smiled, remembering. “When the princess got home she was very weary from her travels. She promised her prince she would return to him soon but first she must visit with her family and say hello to them after so long apart. She was a princess and it was her duty to show herself there. The princess lived in a magical place… in a very tall building with towers, what is the word?”

“Castle,” Ingrid supplied in Old Norse, nudging her to continue the story. 

“Yes, the princess lived in a castle with her family. The castle was beautiful, made of ancient stone and covered in ivy and flowers.”

“Like these flowers?” Ingrid asked, touching her daisy crown.

“Daisies, yes. But also huge red roses with petals so soft and weightless they floated on the wind for miles. And purple lilies with cloudy white cotton all around. Every day the princess would pluck a bouquet and give the arrangement to her mother to put in a vase beside her as she slept, her mother cherished the flowers so. The first thing she did when she got home was select her favorites, giving them to her mother as a gift. Her mother welcomed her with open arms, waiting for the princess to tell her every one of her stories from the other world. Like you, her mother wanted to know of all the princess’ adventures. So they sat together and spoke of her friends, her life, her prince.”

“Why did her prince not come with her to her home? Could the prince not come too?” 

Sookie tucked Ingrid’s hair behind her ear, blowing a fallen petal from her cheek.

“The princess lived in a magical world, remember? The prince wasn’t allowed in, but he waited patiently for her to come back. The princess missed him, too, and though she enjoyed spending time with her family, she wanted more than anything to go back to him. On her last day at home the castle threw a beautiful ball and the princess wore her best gown. It was white and long and light, it looked like the princess was wearing but a wisp of new smoke from a fire. It was shiny, too, and when it caught the light she twinkled like a thousand stars.”

Ingrid gazed up at the sky, finally falling dark as the sun dipped behind the horizon line. Though it was the fickle night of midsummer, the stars still managed to shine through. Sookie pinpointed the gleam of Orion’s Belt, the beckoning call of the gods and goddesses reaching out their slender hands. 

“Then the princess went back?”

“Yes, she went. She went and she found her prince.”

“And they lived happily ever after?” Ingrid asked hopefully.

“She found him, but her prince did not recognize her. It was not her prince. Though it looked like him, it smelled like him, it felt like him, it was not him. Her prince was this man’s great-grandfather. The princess then realized that time worked differently in her magical castle than it did in his world. A lifetime to them was but a few minutes to her.”

Ingrid’s face scrunched up in displeasure. She was expecting a happy ending to her story. But if there was one thing she needed to learn, it was that not all fairytales had happy endings. 

“He waited for her but she did not come until after his death. It is very sad,” Ingrid said softly.

“Because you must not wait,” Sookie implored, “You must always live.”

The flapping of wings swooped low over their heads. Bats, free in the moonlight, arcing above them, in and out of the trees. Graceful, sultry movements, diving and floating, floating and diving. They stood up, Sookie gathering Ingrid in her arms, Ingrid’s face nestled into the crook of her neck as she walked back up to the homes. A dying fire lay crackling, glowing embers throbbing red. She poked the rubble with a stick, watching as the ash flew bright then black, little confetti shadows. She knew it safer to sleep inside, bundled together with the family for protection. But the night was so warm, so clear, so inviting. She couldn’t help but to find a soft patch of grass behind the hut, couldn’t help but to lay down, curled around Ingrid’s small body, white hair like straw before her, daughter of a shooting star.

x

She awoke to the sound of a twig snapping. But the twig itself wasn’t what put her on alert. It was the absence of all other sounds. No animals roaming the forest floor, no birds cooing in the branches, no mating calls, no insect’s hiss. No wind. No movement. Slowly, as not to betray her wakefulness, Sookie pulled Ingrid tighter into her chest. The young girl snuffled in her sleep, reaching her small hand out to grasp Sookie’s for comfort. 

She saw the world through the partitioned curtains of grass, a foreground hazy and cut with shadow. A few feet away was the forest line, trees huddled up together, growing up and out of hills made of mossy stone. Nothing looked amiss, but something was certainly present. The animals always knew. The animals were never wrong. Sookie gulped, eyes roaming, enlisting her power now as she had always been taught to do: in conservative self-defence. Her hands warmed; she watched as they began to emit a faint hit of light like a distant sunset. She tucked them beneath Ingrid, sheathed but ready. With her mind she reached outward, searching. She skirted the comfort of Ingrid’s dream, something youthful and gentle, the story of princesses in faraway lands, the kind that ended with happily ever after. She sensed the chorus of thoughts inside the homes, most asleep but some awake. On watch. 

Another man was also alert. Like Sookie he, too, noticed the absence of any noise. The way the quiet betrays danger far sooner than the attack. She listened as he planned his next move: light a torch but give up his location? Stay still, search blindly for his hunting knife? His breathing began to accelerate with the age old dilemma of fight or flight. He feared a dangerous predator, ricocheting between human and animal, then a mixture of the two. Sookie moved her mind away, targeting the forest instead. 

What she found was richer than silence. It was the absence of it, a black hole, a void cut into the air, sucking the sound and everything else with it. 

That was when she knew she was in true danger. 

That was when she knew she was being hunted. 

That was when she knew it was a vampire.

Sookie moved her body slowly, each muscle independently. She switched to a kneeling position first, eyes locked on the forest, then stood, waiting. She stepped over Ingrid, placing herself between the darkness of the trees and Ingrid’s sleeping form, raising up her hands in false surrender. Those same hands glowed faintly with the thrum of power, a gentle threat to come no closer, a warning sign, a do not advance. Each step brought her nearer to the trees and, more importantly, what awaited beyond them. The dead silence enveloped her, cancelling out the suspicious and the sleeping in the village behind. She felt it wrap around her, invasive tendrils, encasing her brain with a numbing agent she recognized and feared.

She was out here alone. She was powerful, but she was alone. 

“Stop,” a voice said. It was Old Norse of tongue, but the accent was incorrect. She herself was a stranger in a strange land, making it easy to identify the others. She stilled, hands still raised, the light pulsating.

“Come out,” Sookie requested into the darkness. “I cannot see.”

It was a young boy that stepped out from the trees, his chest bare. He was small, friendly-looking, though she, of course, knew the opposite to be true. His skin was so pale it was blinding bright; she fought the urge to squint. Across his chest was a tattoo, tribal, a pattern that betrayed his age. He may be older even than she, an ancient thing, timeless, deader than the ground he tread upon. He took a few steps toward her, the rough hewn trousers wrapped around his legs and held taut by a string. His feet were bare. He was a lost boy. He would never grow up.

“I’ve been looking for your kind,” he said, his eyes roaming across her form, landing on her glowing hands, watching as they trembled. “I’ve scoured the globe, yearning to be here, desperate for our timelines to finally, finally align.” He was eloquent, verbose, gentle. A deadly courtship of the tongue.

“Leave the village be,” Sookie declared, ending the pretense. “Leave it be and I will come with you.”

The boy smiled but it wasn’t a happy one. It was evil. She watched his fangs drop down, approaching her at an angle, feinting left and right, slow and sure. He was toying with her; he wanted her to watch. He liked the feel of her eyes tracking him, of her body submitting to his movements, of the flick of her lashes when he made a surprising tack. He was a hunter with prey on sight and staring, but, like a true child, he enjoyed playing with his food. All that was needed now was the killing blow. 

“Do you think you are in any position to strike a bargain?” he asked. He paused a few feet away from her, inhaling deeply, his eyes black as night. 

“Sookie?” she heard behind her. Ingrid, gazing at the scene, eyes wide. Sookie couldn’t turn, couldn’t take her eyes off the vampire.

“Ingrid, go inside,” Sookie ordered, her voice harsh. 

“Yes, Ingrid,” the vampire cooed, “Go inside. I will come for you later. You will be the wine to complement my feast.”

Sookie’s eyes flashed, a powerful stream of light shooting from her palms directly into the chest of the vampire. He flew backward, slamming into the closest tree before he hit the ground. The wood buckled with the force of it, the taller limbs shaking and dropping leaves around his body. She watched as he pushed himself up, the same dark smile still locked in place on his lips. He had a fire in his eyes. 

Desire, wanton and raw. He saw in her what all vampires saw in all fairies: daylight. 

“Ingrid,” Sookie said again, hearing the young girl’s nervous breaths behind her. “I said to go inside now. Do not come out.”

“But, Sookie--” she began to protest.

“Do as I say.”

Sookie listened to the pad of her retreating footsteps as the vampire approached her once more, dragging his limbs through the grass as though they were an unnecessary burden. She flexed her fingers, threatening him with a second blast, feeling the strength of it in her core, on the brink of explosion. He was only inches from her now, his head tilted to the side, inquisitive and deadly. 

“Do you think you are any match for me?” he asked. “Do you dare?”

His movement blurred with speed when he lunged. She shot at him in a blast of white light directly in front of her, but she miscalculated. It wasn’t her that he was aiming at. It was the village. He flew past her left side, darting into the closest hut so quickly she couldn’t tell what had happened until she began to hear the screams. The sounds were awful, never-ending, infinite. The gurgles, the gasp of stolen breath, the ripping of skin, the childrens’ cries. Ingrid, alone, dead or alive, unknowable, forever lost to Sookie, a fever dream she would carry with her always, however long always may be.

She chased after him, running to the open hut, careening towards destruction. She was just about to reach the thatch when she was caught from behind, yanked backward so hard her exhale caught in her throat, knocking the wind from her body when she landed on her back. She stared up, blinking, attempting to gather her bearings in the muted, shadowy light. She saw the full moon, so clear and round, until a silhouette eclipsed it, encompassing her again in darkness. It was a wild man, a Viking, long blonde hair caked in blood and dirt, the lines of him hard to decipher, backlit by the night sky.

She took a breath and lit him up, throwing him into the air with her energy until he collapsed a few paces away, curled up on his side. He quickly rebounded, dropping into a crouch and advancing, a feral growl rumbling from deep within him as, in the background, humans continued to be slaughtered. She scrambled backwards on her palms and the balls of her feet, dragging herself through the brush, her dress torn and dirtied, her face betraying newfound fear as his fangs dropped. 

Two against one. It was official. This would be her last night. She didn’t cry, jutting her chin toward this second vampire with the reckless bravery of the hunted, a member of an endangered, dying race in a world so new and lovely. The vampire stood to full height, darting over to her then crouching down once more. This time, the moon shone on his face, the strong jaw and crisp blue eyes, the powerful Viking features common here but unique to her. Recognizable. She knew this face. She peered up at him as he stared, his expression empty but for the thirst so clearly etched into his every pore. 

The once dying warrior. The mourned future king. The prince of the fairytale gone wrong. 

He gazed at her, fangs already bloody, and licked his lips. 

“Eric?” she breathed. He blinked, caught off guard. It _was_ Eric. She could see his humanity then, if only for a moment, a flickering candle in the wind. Then he inhaled, the breeze blowing gently through her hair. She watched his face transform again, a response to her scent, instantly overpowered by the desire for her light. 

He leaned in.

“Eric, it is me, do you not remember me? It is me, Sookie,” she begged him. From the corner of her eye she could see the original vampire move to join Eric, descending down the grassy slope. He was drenched in blood from head to toe. He spoke loudly in the distance, a tongue so ancient Sookie could not understand. Eric faltered again in his distraction, clearly torn. “Please. Please. A life for a life, Eric.”

But the other vampire was stronger and Eric was weak in his newfound immortality. He was no longer human. There was no bargaining with the agent of death, no making a deal with the night. She knew better. Sookie closed her eyes and braced herself for the bite.

****

**Louisiana, 2008**

“You look like vampire bait,” Bill said, his hands clenched on the steering wheel. Sookie knew that if he weren’t so pale, his knuckles would be shining white in tension. He glared at the road before them, the twists and turns of the unlit street flying by as they drove together toward Fangtasia, the vampire bar in Shreveport. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sookie asked, affronted.

“I promised your grandmother no harm would come to you at Fangtasia tonight,” he said slowly, with his typical Southern drawl, “I’m not sure I’m going to be able to keep that promise with you dressed like this.”

“So are you sayin’ you think I look nice?” Sookie was wearing one of her best dresses, white, flowy, a flattering neckline and covered with small red flowers. It made her feel confident but conservative. She wore it for Bill, of course, hoping to draw some type of reaction due to her newfound infatuation with the vampire. Her blonde hair was pulled back with a thin white headband, her skin tanned and flushed at the cheeks. Alive. She knew she posed a pretty big contrast to her vampire beau, but she was human, after all. And she wasn’t about to dress herself in leather and lace like some filthy fangbanger. 

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” Bill said slyly, “This isn’t a date, remember?” 

Sookie couldn't help but blush, breaking eye contact with Bill and staring back out again at the road. Her heart fluttered in her chest, from nerves or from lust she couldn’t tell. She’d never been out with a vampire before, and she surely hadn’t been out to a place like Fangtasia. She’d heard stories, of course. Humans drained in the bathroom and left for dead, all night benders after only a few drops of vampire blood. She’d already had her fair share of blood from Bill, but it wasn’t intended for sport. Recreational use of V was common, she knew that, but it wasn’t something she chose or intended to partake in. Sookie leaned her head back as they drove deeper into Shreveport, the lights of the town illuminating the night but erasing the stars. 

She knew the moment they pulled up to Fangtasia. It wasn’t exactly difficult to miss, what with the very eclectic crowd out front. She gripped her bag tightly, reminding herself why she was there at all. _Just go in, get the information, leave. Nothing more._ They found a parking spot near the back and Bill opened up her door. She steeled herself before stepping out onto the pavement, trying to show no fear. He looked at her with calculating eyes, and, as they walked to the door of the club, he pulled her in tighter to his side in an unexpected gesture. 

The volume of the place was an atrocity. Between the music, the yells, the chatter and the minds, Sookie would need a military-grade barrier built permanently in her mind to block it all out. She cringed into Bill’s chest a bit as they moved forward, finding refuge in the void of his mind and using it as a shield to block out the rest of the club. She felt surrounded on all sides, bodies pressing in as they shuffled through the heavy, red door and into the club. They were about to reach the bar when they were stopped on sight by a vampire. She appeared suddenly as if an apparition materialized. Sookie jumped a bit. Bill glanced over, releasing her automatically, his nostrils flared. 

The woman was tall, leggy, draped in leather. Her lips were painted blood red. They stood out shockingly against her pale skin. Her hair was pulled back tight and her eyes were inquisitive, searching, focused only on Sookie. If Sookie didn’t know any better, she would say this vampire recognized her from somewhere. She searched Sookie’s expression, opening her mouth to speak but hesitating.

“Identification,” she requested expectantly, holding out her hand toward Sookie.

“Is that necessary?” Bill asked, peeved.

“In this case, yes,” the vampire drawled, continuing her examination of Sookie. Slow, languid.

Sookie grabbed her ID, careful not to take the photos out in the process. The vampire snatched it, again inspecting the license as if it were encrypted or a carefully-crafted fake.

“It’s real,” Sookie smiled, trying for a joke. 

“You’ve got some nerve,” the vampire said, ignoring the comment, her voice suddenly acidic. “He’s not even here tonight.”

“Beg your pardon?” Sookie said, confused. 

“It’s been years, Sookie. Years.” Her voice was vehement. “Do you know what I’ve had to put up with? I’m only just getting him back. You promised not to start this again, too. Should’ve known you to be a liar. Your kind are all the same.”

“I’m sorry but I have no idea what you’re goin’ on about,” Sookie laughed uncomfortably, still attempting politeness. Did this vampire know about the photos? Did she know Sookie wanted to come and question the clubgoers tonight? Is that why she was so angry? It had to be some type of mix up.

“Yes, Pam, what is this?” Bill cut in, stepping slightly in front of Sookie in a protective motion. “We’re just here to get a drink, nothing more.” Sookie noticed he didn’t bring up the murdered women she had photos of in her bag. The situation was clearly growing beyond the original intent, perhaps he wanted to extricate them before it escalated further. 

The vampire she now knew to be Pam laughed cruelly. In that moment she looked truly evil, though her fangs were still tucked away safely. Sookie didn’t have much experience with vampires beyond Bill, and this was why. This was what she was warned about. Pam turned her gaze to Bill, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, still clutching Sookie’s ID. Bill gripped Sookie’s hand and Pam’s eyes dropped down to them, one elegant eyebrow arching skyward. 

“Don’t think that’s going to work out for you, Bill,” she smirked. “Both of you, with me.”

She turned on a heel, walking deeper into the club without waiting for an answer. Sookie and Bill glanced at each other, Sookie nervous and Bill stone-faced. She could see he wanted to leave, but that clearly wasn’t an option for either of them. Instead, hands locked together, they followed Pam to the back. The other clubgoers watched them like a funeral march, heads bowed but eyes suspicious. Sookie did her best not to look around too much, staring intently at her own feet as they walked. She couldn’t read anyone’s thoughts either, not with her warm hand clutched inside Bill’s cold one. The deeper they descended into the club, the more his fingers tightened on her own. She gulped, intensely aware that she had walked into the lion’s den and that it was absolutely not going according to plan.

They descended damp, cold steps into a light tight basement, the door shutting heavily behind them with a resounding thud. Pam flicked on a light switch revealing the makings of what seemed to be a knock off of a medieval torture room, complete with chains hanging from the ceiling. Sookie backed up abruptly into Bill who dropped his fangs in response.

“What is the meaning of this, Pam?” Bill snarled, advancing on the other vampire and leaving Sookie behind him.

“What, Sookie didn’t fill you in before you got here? That’s awfully rude of you,” Pam said, leaning her body to the side to make eye contact with Sookie.

“I don’t know how many times I can say I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Sookie replied, edging her way back toward the staircase. 

Pam just laughed again as if they were sharing some private joke. Beneath her fear Sookie began to feel the growing energy of anger. It built from within her center, branching outward, warming her extremities with heat and light. She’d learned how to control her disability ages ago, but in moments of peril it unleashed on its own accord. She locked her fingers behind her back, working hard to contain it before she got herself killed. 

“I’m leavin’,” Sookie proclaimed, moving up the steps. Pam was in front of her in a flash, blocking her way.

“We’re waiting for Eric.”

“Who the hell is Eric?” Sookie cried in pure frustration.

Pam’s brow furrowed, gazing at her in confusion. 

“Are you playing me for a fool?” Pam asked, moving closer to Sookie, reading her expression, deciphering the truth.

“We don’t need the Sheriff,” Bill said slowly. Even Sookie could hear the nerves in his voice. Whoever Eric was, it wasn’t going to be good. That much was clear. 

“Please, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. Just let us leave,” she begged. Bill stood perfectly still behind her, tracking their movements with his eyes. “You’ve got me mixed up with someone else, I swear it.” Pam inhaled then, slowly, her own eyes drifting closed. 

“No,” she said, eyelids fluttering, “I’m not. You can’t hide your scent.” She flared her nostrils. “If you’re determined to keep lying to me, I suppose I’ll simply have to force it out of you.”

Sookie screamed as Pam’s fangs pierced her neck. She pushed against her chest and Pam flew backward, Bill tackling her into the stony wall. Sookie clutched her bleeding neck as they fought, pressing herself into the staircase as flashes of pale limbs appeared and disappeared before her eyes. In one moment, Pam had Bill in her clutches, but in the next the tables had turned, Pam incapacitated as Bill’s hand locked firmly around her neck, her arms behind her back. 

“Sookie is mine,” Bill growled, inches from her face. Pam snapped at him with her fangs, her eyes clear and confident as she dragged them from Bill’s face to somewhere above Sookie’s right shoulder. Sookie turned, holding her breath, feeling the presence of a strong void behind her. Another vampire stood, tall and well-built, framed in silhouette, the clinical, white light of the hallway shining behind him. He had shoulder length blonde hair and he wore all black, his large shoulders covered by a worn leather jacket. His face was passive, serious, and his icy blue eyes were trained not on the fight occurring before him, but on Sookie herself.

“No,” the vampire disagreed, his voice surprisingly quiet. “She’s not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello it's me again! diving headfirst into supernatural elements over here, please forgive me if i diverge from canon rules a bit. longer story too this go around. i've spent some time plotting it out and i'm quite excited. would love to hear your thoughts. x


	2. War and Peace

**New York City, 1945**

She waited for the bite.

Her inhale held tight in her chest, lips pursed, arms locked to her sides. The smell of spilt whiskey. The rush of blood. She could feel the cold breath of the vampire as it ghosted across her neck, savoring the moment before breaking open flesh. His arms pushed her up against the wall, her shoulder digging into the gilded frame of an ancient portrait. Normally she would fight back, especially with a vampire as young as the one currently threatening her. It would be easy, in fact.

But this was a vampire bar. And she was surrounded.

She knew she was walking into relative danger when she'd stepped inside the old Irish pub with the tar-based, light-proof paint covering the windows and the unmarked, almost impossible to see signage. It was in a back alley, too, in the heart of the Lower East Side, not an area known for its most hospitable creatures, human or otherwise.

It was the night after V-E day and all of New York was coming down from a veritable high. The streets were strewn with the refuse of the spontaneous parties, dirtied streamers clogging the gutters, shattered bottles of champagne in pools of bubbling liquid, mini American flags forgotten by drunken comrades. The war was finally over, thank the heavens.

During war, there were no rules, and not just for humans. From the 18th century onward, the growing number of vampires that inhabited the earth learned to take full advantage of the lack of structure, the unhinged chaos. They slipped in and out of the battles unseen, raiding corpses and feasting on the newly dead. It was the gruesome, wretched business of opportunity. Vampires often fought on both sides, crossing party lines mid-battle. After all, most weren't known for their loyalty, during war or during peace.

When Sookie first arrived at the bar she had been under the protection of a vampire she'd befriended back in France a few centuries earlier. Her name was Madeline, and she had had the audacity to dress as a British nurse during the war, stitching up broken soldiers at night, stealing tastes here and there, draining the ones with nothing left to give. Surrounded by blood at every moment. Gluttonous.

"The incredible thing was," Madeline chatted, carefree, as her and Sookie walked arm and arm through the streets, "The other nurses and surgeons knew. They knew exactly who I was, exactly what I was doing. But they didn't bother to question it. Didn't even think twice. Bigger fish to fry, I suppose. At times I even missed the danger of the witch trials, if you can believe it! Made for a bit of excitement then, the risk and all that. Never knew who was going to get caught and chained up in the daylight."

"So they never asked why all of the dying soldiers you cared for didn't seem to contain a single drop of blood afterwards?" Sookie asked, amazed. "Or that you were only available to tend to them after the sunset?"

"Not once," she said. "I was in uniform. No questions asked. The British do know a thing or two about uniforms, don't they? You have to respect their penchant for fashion even in the face of tremendous adversity."

"Ah yes," Sookie agreed sarcastically. "Priorities."

They walked in silence for a few moments. Though it was closing in on midnight the streets were still boisterous with human life. They poured out of doors, hung off fire escapes, shouted exultations into the skies and the crowds below. It began to rain, only lightly, tiny splashes on the cobblestones, little puddles growing in their gaps. Madeline and Sookie clutched tightly to each other, their long overcoats and fashionable up-dos speckled with rain.

"I thought you said Eric would be here waiting," Madeline complained, watching the dark sky as more clouds rolled in. Her eyes flashed in anticipation. Madeline had a soft spot for Eric, as most women did. Women with eyes. It was hard not to given his beauty, his height, his age, his power. He had a reputation and, depending on who was asked, it was either very good or very bad. Madeline scanned the streets as the crowds dispersed on account of the rain, searching for the Viking with her enhanced senses. While she may be looking forward to meeting up with the often elusive Eric, she knew better than to make any advance in Sookie's presence. Eric had made a promise to her that if she tried, it would be a death wish.

Eric didn't make promises he couldn't keep.

"I thought so too but I don't feel him near. Let's just get out of the rain, perhaps he's on his way."

Sookie approached the unmarked door with the painted-over windows, hearing through the moist brick walls the faint tremors of music.

"This is a vampire bar," Madeline warned, smelling the traces of open wounds, the metal of blood in the air.

"You'll protect me, right?" Sookie smiled playfully, winking as she pushed open the heavy wooden door.

"Fine," Madeline allowed begrudgingly, following her in. The place was packed. Apparently, it wasn't just the humans that were celebrating the end of the war, though it did mean a gradual end to the lawless feeding the vampires had surely grown used to. A few eyes glanced up at their arrival, most landing on Madeline. She was beautiful, her beauty only enhanced by her vampirism.

Sandy brown hair she pinned up off her face, milky eyes innocent as a young doe and fringed with heavy mascara, a heart-shaped face. When she was still human, Madeline was promised to a feudal lord twice her weight and triple her age. He was balding, old enough to be her father, married prior and he had a penchant for using his riding crop for things other than sport. But he was a landowner in the south of France. And he wanted Madeline. They did marry, though the marriage was short. She took her revenge on him after she became a vampire. That, too, didn't take much time. Only a few minutes, if Sookie recalled correctly.

Madeline played it up for her captive audience, dropping her fangs and pulling a tube of bright red lipstick out of her purse. Sookie watched in amusement as she applied it seductively, throwing a wink in the mirror to a man behind her. The bar was pretty evenly split, half vampire and half human. One of said humans attempted to try his hand with Madeline, approaching with his head bowed. Sookie noticed he wore a naval uniform, though it was torn a bit at the neck where a zealous vampire had gotten a bit too greedy.

"Not now, honey," Madeline spoke gently. "Can't you see I'm here to have a girl's night?" She gestured toward Sookie.

Sookie grinned as the man looked at her in appraisal, noticing her existence for the first time. She gave a little wave as they passed around him, walking together toward the bar. To Sookie's surprise the bartender was human, an older gentleman with a strong beard but a weak hairline. He glanced up when they arrived, waving a dishtowel to indicate he'd be over shortly. He, too, approached with a deferential air, and Sookie could see that beneath the beard his neck was littered with vampire bites. Apparently the bartender was also on the menu.

"Ladies," he said with a strong Irish accent, "what can I get for ya?"

"Sookie?" Madeline inclined her head.

"Something strong," Sookie grinned, a bud of anticipation growing in her stomach. She felt Eric's presence. He was nearby.

"On the house tonight," the bartender said, "On account of we're the victors."

"Right you are," Madeline said, her eyes catching on a woman in a back booth. She had long, tumbling red hair, freckled skin, delicate features. She looked fresh from Ireland herself and, from experience, Sookie knew she was exactly Madeline's type.

"Oh, go on," Sookie said, gesturing toward the woman. "I'll be fine."

"You sure?" Madeline asked. The amount of patrons at the bar had grown, most of them vampire.

"Eric's nearby. I can feel it. Enjoy, it's the end of the war after all."

"Don't remind me," Madeline sighed wistfully, jumping off the bar stool and honing in on her unsuspecting prey. The bartender delivered Sookie two fingers of whiskey with a single ice cube, resting his forearms on the bar, leaning over for a chat. Sookie sipped her whiskey politely, pushing on his mind. It was filled with lust. Not for her, but for vampire blood. The Lower East Side was notorious for its drug scene and vampire blood was no exception.

"You're awful brave hanging out here alone as a human, Sweetheart," the bartender said.

"I'll let you in on a little secret," she said, leaning closer to the bartender with a playful, conspiratorial expression. "I'm not human." Then she grinned, allowing the bartender to think it a joke. He let out a hearty laugh, patting her hand warmly.

"Of course you're not, of course you're not."

Sookie let her gaze wander the bar. The energy was palpable. It made her feel soft, welcome, at peace. It also made her feel a part of something, like the victory was hers, too, though she was gone for nearly the entirety of the war. Eric had made her promise to stay away and so she did. Sookie, too, didn't make promises she couldn't keep. It was something they had in common.

But now, she felt as though she'd missed something monumental. Something tragically human, and at such an enormous scale. She'd witnessed, and partaken in, countless wars. But she could see, in retrospect, that this one was different. The thoughts of the humans that night were truly extraordinary. The things they'd seen, the events they'd experienced. The unabated fear, the exhaustion, the relief of the announcement. The yearning to return to a life of peace, a life of normalcy, a life of love. She could relate.

She was broken from her reverie by the approach of a vampire. She could tell he was young by his mannerisms. The constant flick of his eyes to her neck, locked to the pulsing artery. His jilted movements, unsure yet how to control his speed. His control as thin as tissue paper, his actions driven by desire. Sookie was used to this reaction from the young ones, especially given the potency of her scent. They were hardly able to control themselves around regular humans, nonetheless fairies.

These days, most didn't know why she was different from other humans. The myths had fallen away with time. They just knew they _wanted_. And they wanted _badly_.

"Hello," Sookie said disinterestedly.

"Can I get you a drink?" the vampire asked, his short brown hair cropped tightly to his forehead, the standard army cut. He was either blending into the decade or he was very, very new. Sookie had a hunch it was the latter.

"Polite of you. I've got one already."

"Could you give me a drink?" he tried instead, eyes on her neck.

"Cheeky. But no."

The vampire moved his gaze to her face. Clearly, he hadn't been denied yet. She could feel the other vampires in the bar tuning into their conversation, seeing what would happen next. A vampire rejected by a human, in vampire domain. If he did not pursue her, he would look weak. He sensed it too, his back straightening, preparing to prove himself in front of the other patrons. Sookie's eyes flashed to the door. What was taking Eric so long? She'd have to put up a real fight in this bar, and even then there were no guarantees. Plus, she really didn't want to make a scene. Not on a night of celebration, of camaraderie, of togetherness.

From the corner of her eye she watched the bartender take three slow, careful steps away.

In a flash, the vampire made up his mind, darting with her to the back wall and pressing her up against it, two inches off the ground. Sookie dropped her whiskey and the glass broke on the floor in a snowflake of shards. All eyes were now on them. Fangs were dropping. They waited. She tensed, his breath on her neck.

She waited for the bite, but it didn't come.

Eric ripped the boy off her by the back of his neck, her feet dropping to the floor in release as he hurled the young vampire's body into the air. The vampire landed on a barstool, the wood crumpling beneath him. Everyone froze, staring at Eric. Half recognition, half awe. At that moment, the bar was so quiet one could hear a pin drop. Eric glanced at Sookie then quickly away, his nostrils flaring in anger. His golden hair was short, also in the army style. He must've been fighting, too, and she found herself wondering on which side. He wore a suit jacket and slacks, leather shoes quiet on the wooden floor as he approached the young vampire.

"Explain yourself," he ordered in his deadliest voice, the low monotone of which he was famous. His accent was thicker than she remembered, the old Nordic vowels marring his English. He must've been in Europe, then. Perhaps even back home to Sweden. Surrounded by similar tongues.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Northman," the vampire cowered, still prostrate on the floor. "I didn't know."

"Then how should I educate you?" Eric asked, cocking his head to the side, toying with him.

"Eric," Sookie interrupted, exasperated. "He really didn't know."

There were surprised reactions by the other vampires. She wondered then if she'd spoken out of turn by using his first name, by addressing him without respect. Eric didn't respond, didn't even turn toward her. Instead, he lifted his leather shoe, letting it hover over the open palm of the vampire. Sookie could see the telltale glint of a silver-plated sole. Slowly, Eric lowered his shoe until the silver just barely touched the vulnerable skin of the vampire's hand. He cried out, attempting to pull himself away from Eric, but Eric simply pressed harder. Digging in. There was nothing the younger vampire could do; Eric's strength was simply too great.

"What's all this about?" Madeline asked playfully over the screams, coming out from a back room with blood dripping down her chin. "I leave and it's a party, I return and it's a medieval torture room?"

"Madeline." Eric nodded his head toward her without lowering the pressure. The vampire continued to scream in agony.

"Come, let's go. We've caused a scene. Plus, I doubt this is the reunion Sookie was looking forward to," she said, curling an arm around his bicep. Eric shook her off, but her words did seem to snap him out of it. He lifted his foot, releasing the boy to flee from the bar at vampire speed. Sookie felt his presence whip past her and out the door. Eric turned, walking toward Sookie as the onlookers continued to take in the scene, an audience enraptured. His coat flowed behind him like a cape as he crossed the room in three long, powerful strides. He pushed her up against the wall in the same spot she'd just been trapped, but his touch was the opposite. It was gentle and sure.

She gazed up at him, the one thing in this world she'd memorized in all facets, the feeling that was impossible to forget. His large palms cradled her face, threading into her hair and breaking the up-do until the strands fell long over her shoulders. Then he leaned down and kissed her, close-mouthed, forceful, pouring his energy into her waiting cup. It runneth over.

"I missed you," he spoke against her lips. She kissed him again in response, wrapping her arms around his neck, reaching up on the tips of her toes to do it. His hair was so short it tickled. "Do you like the hair?" he asked with a smirk, knowing she preferred it long.

"Absolutely not."

He laughed, letting go of her face and weaving his hand into hers.

"Let's go," he said quietly. "There's someone I want you to meet."

x

They didn't make it to his apartment. As they walked, she tugged. First on his hands, then his arms, his neck. Anything to get him into a secluded corner. Anything to get him to give her what she wanted, what she'd been craving. His touch. He glanced down at her, masking his own need with playfulness, using his superior strength, not giving an inch. She kept trying. She took his hand, pulling it up to her mouth, kissing each fingertip as he watched, then sucking his pointer finger into her mouth slowly, wrapping her tongue around the nail. He swallowed slowly and she knew she had him. They stopped first under an eave, the outcropping shielding them from the rain, now coming down harder and faster. She dug herself under his overcoat, the heavy fabric wrapping her up, trying to unbutton his shirt with cold fingers. It didn't matter that they were outside, in public, on a busy street. It felt better in the moonlight.

He gave into her, wrapping his fists in her jacket, pushing it off her shoulders until it dropped into a puddle of fabric beneath her. He reached beneath her thighs, lifting her so she could reach him properly, opening his mouth to her with a gratuitous exhale. She dragged her lips across his, tasting him, salt and earth, a thousand year's history on his skin. She used all of her strength to clutch him closer and he responded in kind, pressing up against her fully, sucking greedily at her neck.

"Can we please keep it moving? It's raining," Madeline whined, huddled under an awning. Eric broke away from Sookie to hiss a warning at Madeline, his fangs out, though he did release his tight grip on Sookie's legs at the same time. Sookie frowned, pouting her lip.

"Soon, little one," he said, smoothing back her damp hair with his palms, reaching around to gather up her jacket and drape it over her shoulders once more.

They stopped a second time in the stairwell up to Eric's apartment. Annoyed and wet, Madeline left them to their own devices, climbing the stairs without a backwards glance, though Sookie could swear she heard displeased grumblings under Madeline's breath. Eric's short hair sparkled with drops of rain. One fell from a strand and began its path down his forehead, his cheek. Sookie jumped up, licking the droplet from his skin. He looked at her with hunger, grasping both her wrists in one of his large hands, holding them above her head, two bodies entwined beneath the flickering electric light of the stairwell.

He used his other hand efficiently, removing her jacket once more to reveal the dress she wore for him. Red, tight, collared. Short, ruffled sleeves with a tie binding her small waist, the tips of the skirt brushing the tops of her knees. He gazed appreciatively for a moment before dragging his hand through the collar, ripping the thin fabric to her waistline.

"Eric, this was one of my favorites," she scolded but he just shrugged, releasing her wrists and dropping to his knees before her, his head ducking under her skirt. She forgot her anger immediately, clutching his shoulders desperately as her bones went weak under the quick movements of his tongue. She felt his palms wrap around her thighs, pulling her closer to him. She cried out when she came, feeling his fangs sink into the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, the suckling pressure of two languid pulls. He stood back up slowly, his lips and chin the same color as her dress. He tilted his head left to right, stretching, cracking his neck, smirking down at her.

"Sorry about the dress," he said cockily.

She knew she looked a picture: cheeks flushed, hair wild, dress ripped.

"You're lucky I like you," she said slyly.

"That's true," he agreed, taking off his jacket and giving it to her for modesty. She took it quizzically; he typically didn't care how much of her skin showed at any given time. Still, she wrapped herself in the excess of fabric, nearly drowning in it. He held out his hand to her and she took it, climbing the rest of the stairs slowly, approaching a door only slightly different from its neighbors: it sported several extra locks.

He opened the door to a cozy sitting room complete with a roaring fire. Heavy drapes, lit candles, and a human, neck still dripping blood, lounging in the corner. Sookie settled herself on the couch, looking inquisitively at Eric. He was acting odd, less confident than normal, like he was hiding something. She could feel he was unsure.

"What's going on?" she asked him. Before he could answer, another vampire stepped into the room. She had long, glamorous, dirty-blonde hair. Her skin was so fair it caused her features to pop aggressively. She wore an elegant dress, expensive, and she was impressively manicured. Her fangs were out, but her movements were deliberate, cautious, and clearly deferential to Eric. Her dark eyes were searching Sookie's. She was sizing her up.

"Sookie," Eric said, re-capturing her attention. "I'd like to introduce you to my progeny, Pamela."

**Louisiana, 2008**

"Out," the vampire ordered calmly from the top of the stairs, eyes still locked on Sookie. The basement was completely silent save for a single drop of water repeatedly splashing somewhere in the distance.

"But, Eric-"

"Sheriff, we didn't intend-"

Both Bill and Pam began to protest at the same time, forgetting their own vendetta against each other, their arms dropping to their sides.

"Did I stutter?" he asked, his voice deadlier in its extreme monotone. She noticed then that he had an accent, something she couldn't place. European, perhaps. Mixed in with the local Southern drawl.

Pam moved first, her eyes apologetic, all of the wind taken from her sails as she approached Eric.

"I was just making sure it was really her, I thought she was under a spell," Pam explained, gesturing toward the open wound on Sookie's neck. She moved up into Eric's presence, attempting to make eye contact, her expression subservient and raw. She clutched his hand in both of hers.

"I don't want to hear it. I don't want to look at you." Eric ripped his hand away and moved around her, approaching Sookie slowly. She still sat at the bottom of the stairs, knees curled into her chest, drops of blood falling onto her white dress. Bill, too, moved past Sookie, ready to abandon her without a second glance.

"Bill, wait," Sookie cried, clutching at his leg, fearful for what might happen with this strange, powerful vampire in a basement fit for torture. Bill turned back quickly, kneeling before her to speak a quick reassurance. Eric gripped his shoulder first, pulling him away from Sookie with one smooth gesture.

"You don't touch her," he said, deadly soft. He crouched where Bill just was, his face a remarkable contrast. Sookie couldn't help but stare at him, shocked by the way he regarded her, without any pretense, like an old friend or lover. He took her hand gently, removing it from where it clutched the open wound on her neck. She didn't resist, caught in his arctic eyes, finding something there she didn't expect. Something that tickled at the back of her mind like an itch she couldn't scratch. She watched as his fangs dropped; slowly, with a perverse sense of control. She assumed, then, that he would bite her, what with the way he was looking at her neck. Instead, he used his fang to prick his own fingertip, a drop of his own blood growing slowly. With his other hand, he clutched the back of her neck, drawing her closer, pressing his fingertip into the bite. She jumped, a warm flush growing on her cheeks as he rubbed circles there, a small tingle as the wound closed up. He exhaled through his nose, leaning in slightly, staring at her lips.

"She is mine," Bill growled in interruption.

The tall, golden-haired vampire's face froze, a wall coming down with incredible speed. And then he laughed. But it wasn't a happy laugh. It was cruel. He didn't even turn to look at Bill.

"Sookie," Eric addressed her. She jolted at her name being used by him; there was no way for him to know it. She'd never seen this vampire before in her life. "Tell him."

Sookie opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out, lips parted and her eyes wide. Eric knelt closer to her, both of his hands gripping her biceps tightly.

" _Tell him,_ " he implored, his expression suddenly urgent.

"I… I'm Bill's," Sookie choked out. Eric dropped his hands as if burnt, standing to back up from her like she was the dangerous one. Bill's smile was triumphant. Sookie had never seen a shocked vampire before, especially one shocked into inaction. She scrambled up and around his frozen form, noticing with fear that she only came up to mid-chest at her full height. This vampire could snap her like a twig and she was clearly displeasing him in some deep, impossible way. She wasn't about to stick around and wait for him to take action.

She took advantage of his confusion and raced up the steps, her heart pounding, running blindly toward the thumping music of Fangtasia. Bill caught up and lifted her through the bar, speeding out into the night. He deposited her in the passenger's seat, zipping around, revving the engine and swerving out of the lot.

The last thing she saw from her window was Eric, standing just outside the bar, his face open, looking for all the world like he'd just seen a ghost.

x

Sookie's sleep was restless. She was plagued by dreams that started beautifully but trailed into nightmares. Each time she awoke, she felt as if someone were watching her, cataloguing her, examining her. It was a figure that hovered right at the edge of her peripheral vision, a phantom, a spirit that disappeared the moment she turned her head. She awoke the last time, sweating, in the dead of night, without a single memory of her dream. Her window was slightly parted, letting in a cool breeze. It was funny, she had no recollection of opening it.

She crossed over to the window, the curtains blowing softly around her. Outside, the moon was full, illuminating the yard, casting white light on her grandmother's blooming flower garden. She leaned her head out, cooling off, staring at the graveyard in the distance. Somewhere, just on the other side, Bill waited out the night in the old Compton residence. She thought back wistfully to simpler times. Early summer. Working at the bar with Sam and Arlene. Watching soaps with Gran. Hanging out with Jason while the lightning bugs appeared and disappeared around them.

Now, she had Bill. Her strange and grateful void. But she had the nagging, uncompromising feeling that Bill was just the beginning. He was the door to something more, something previously closed off to her, locked up with the key thrown away. She thought back on the evening at Fangtasia, the events that made no sense independently though, in retrospect, felt pre-determined in some way. Like she was an actress reading a script in which she had no knowledge of the lines.

It was Eric's face that came to her most often, and with cruel and striking clarity. His unguarded expressions of hate, of hope, of heartbreak. She'd seen from vampires that they were adept at covering up their emotions, at hiding their humanity deep down inside. But he had been open with her, like she would expect nothing less from him. She knew in her soul that she was the source of his pain, but she had no idea why. He hadn't retaliated, either. He'd shown no violence toward her at all.

She resolved then to go back to him, to attempt to understand, to let him explain without guarding herself out of fear, out of panic. She decided all of this without the knowledge that he was already on his way to her, seeking her out first.


	3. Impossible and True

**Berlin, 1849**

"Must we?" Eric grumbled. Sookie tugged on his hand tightly as they weaved through the busy area, the streets still alive and raucous just after sunset. The fruit and vegetable stalls packed up shop around them, horse drawn carriages clopping down the narrow lanes as drivers cracked their whips lazily.

"Come, I want to at least try it," Sookie said for what felt like the thousandth time. Getting Eric to begrudgingly agree to this was no easy feat; she wasn't about to waste it. She wore her long, blonde hair up in a loose bun, tendrils breaking free, growing wild around her face in the humidity. Eric sighed and allowed himself to be taken through the increasingly crowded streets as they moved closer to city center, reaching up to wrap a finger in one of the fallen tendrils, curling it around and around, watching as the gas lamps illuminated the strands to woven gold. She was wearing her best dress, yards of fabric that draped from her shoulders down to her toes, the bottom skirting against the mud. Light lace emerged from her bodice, traveling up her neck to brush against her chin. That same lace lined her wrists, flowing out to her knuckles. She was never one for jewelry, though, that day, she did wear her golden wedding ring.

Eric was unused to cities, having spent most of the first half of the 19th century in the German countryside. Though food for Eric was scarcer there, it was easier for Sookie to reach him undetected, to live the semi-normal life they were attempting, taking refuge in each other after the Decimation. With most of her species dead and gone, Sookie now had to live as human as possible. Hiding in plain sight. It was better for both of them to live farther from the dense urban centers, and when a threat did happen to accidentally wander through their little village, Eric's presence and age tended to clear that up without consequences.

Sookie watched as Eric gazed calculatingly at the lamps above them, how they illuminated the street near to daylight though the sun had gone down. A creature that lived entirely at night witnessing the world work ever-harder toward eternal day. Together, they still lived by the moon and the stars, by the flickering lights of candles, by warm fireplaces and slow touches.

"Soon there will be no stars," he said, contemplative, the bright lamps overpowering even the north star with their light.

"There will always be stars. Even if they are impossible to see," she said, pulling his hand up to her mouth, kissing his open palm. He let his hand linger, cupping her chin lightly, stroking the skin of her neck through the delicate lace. His eyes burned into hers, the crystalline blue shining brightly under the illumination. His brow was furrowed, strands of his own long hair falling from the thin piece of fabric that tied it back at the nape of his neck. She let them be, watching as they fluttered with his breath, his mouth slightly parted as he watched her. She would be leaving soon; and it was always harder after such an extensive stay. She could feel it in their bond, the bitter tang of sadness hunting them down, forcing them to face it.

He leaned down to kiss her softly and a drunken passerby whooped out a cheer in slurred German. She chuckled against his lips, feeling his fangs click down in automatic response to the unwanted attention. She reached her finger up to press against one gently until he retracted them, feeling instead the smooth, horizontal underside of his incisor. He bit down playfully with his human teeth until she yelped, pulling her hand back and shaking it.

"Those teeth still hurt," she said, clutching her hand to her chest with a small pout.

"I'll kiss it to make it better," he replied smoothly, reaching for her again.

"We'll miss our appointment! I paid the gentleman to stay open late for us and everything," she replied, stepping back.

"Sookie…" he sighed. Even with his face turned down in disapproval he looked positively dashing, what with his long coat, buttoned vest, velvet neck tie and dangling golden chain. The charcoal grey suit had to be tailored for him specifically with extra fabric purchased for his abnormally tall height. He'd worn it only once before, the pleats still creased and starchy. "Does it not sound nicer to return to our room? Remove all of this?" He rose his eyebrows suggestively, opening his hands in a wide arc in respect toward the extravagance of their outfits. He was always uncomfortable in finery; it was like putting a wedding dress on a wild man.

"Come, it's just here," she said, trying to ignore the way her cheeks flushed at his offer, wanting more than anything to return to the room with him, feeling the need deep inside her core.

They took a few sharp corners, walking quickly now down the dark streets, the lamps growing farther and farther apart. She could hear the sound of rats scuttling through the passageways, little squeaks as they darted in and out of holes. Candles sat in window sills, the silhouettes of families wandering behind them. She squinted her eyes, searching for the hanging wooden sign that was easy to spot in the daytime, speeding up when she found it at the end of the alley, creaking on its hinges in the wind.

She rapped the bronze knocker three times before pushing open the door to a dimly lit hallway. A small, bespectacled man stood waiting for them anxiously, beads of sweat on his brow as he wrung his hands together. He wore a worker's suit: suspenders, undershirt, slacks, worn shoes.

"Mrs. Northman," he said, his abnormally high-pitched voice directed at the wooden floorboards beneath them. "A pleasure to see you again."

Sookie glanced up at Eric just in time to catch his pleased half-smile at the use of her name, a rush of affection flowing through their bond. The man then looked up from his intense study of their shoes and gazed at the two of them. Eric's face abruptly dropped and he moved in front of Sookie with one quick half-step. He was so tall he had to duck his head to avoid the mounted candelabra, careful not to singe his hair in the process.

"You must be Mr. Northman," the man said, reaching out his hand. Eric just looked at it; he never shook hands. Instead, he tilted his head forward slightly in acknowledgment and the man let his own hand drop to his side.

"Thank you so much for staying open late," Sookie cut in between the men, her German sounding coarse and foreign to her own ears. She and Eric preferred other languages at home so she'd never quite mastered the harsh accent.

"It is my pleasure," he replied cordially. "Please, if you will follow me."

Together, they entered a back room lit by the largest gas lamp Sookie had ever seen. Though the area was small, its light illuminated nearly the entire space. The room looked as though it had once been a library, shelving lining each wall with a few books here and there. But it had been converted into a studio for Berlin's newest craze: the daguerreotype. Imported from France, the large, box-like contraption sat on a wooden desk in the center of the room, pointed at a floral-painted cloth hanging as a backdrop with two worn chairs placed only a few inches apart in front of it. The photographer gestured for them to take their seats, himself standing behind the camera and doing the necessary mechanical preparations.

Sookie perched herself on the chair, feeling uncomfortable. Eric sat beside her, his limbs, per usual, too long for the standard-issue seating arrangement. She lifted her chair and pressed closer to him so that their thighs touched, more for her comfort than his. His hand rested on his knee and she reached over and squeezed it tightly.

"This will not hurt," the man said, continuing to adjust the device. "Do not be alarmed."

Sookie relaxed a little, more due to Eric's pointer finger gently stroking her palm than the photographer's words.

"The most important thing is to stay very still. This will take five or so minutes, which I will time here." He took out a golden pocket watch, gesturing to its glass casing. "You will stay still until I say to move. Yes?" He looked to them for confirmation.

"Yes, we will be still," Sookie said.

And they were still. For four minutes. It started slowly at first; only a gentle stream of want passing through their bond. Sookie could only see Eric's profile in her peripheral vision, his stony face perfectly frozen in the way only a vampire could. She herself fought not to fidget, wishing she'd chosen to sit on her hands instead of feeling them twitch in her lap. Though his expression was serious, his emotions belied his true feelings. She felt her cheeks flush warmly, her eyelids flickering. He was hungry for her and he was letting her know it. On purpose. Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip quickly before she reprimanded herself for the careless action. Eric's eyes darted to her lips then back to the camera, so fast it was nearly impossible to notice. It surely would not be caught by the lens. Her fingers tightened and, beneath her skirt, she hooked her legs together at the ankle. She was making herself as compact as possible in order to survive these last sixty seconds. Each one was a lifetime.

Sookie just couldn't take it anymore, turning her head so fast even Eric's eyes flickered in surprise, launching herself at him with reckless abandon. He caught her, as he always did, hands placed firmly at her waist as she kissed his cool lips. He sighed against her, tilting his head to reach further, his hands trailing over the fabric of her dress. She breathed heavily, threatening to break free of the cinching corset she wore. Eric tugged at her lace, daring to rip it, his tongue reaching into her mouth then back out. Her hands gripped his shoulders, digging in. He was right about the clothes. They were simply too much, they only got in the way. She bit his lip in frustration and he groaned in response, dragging his hands through her hair, pushing closer still. Before the painted daffodils, they pulsed as one.

Somewhere, in the distance, the photographer said: "Time's up."

**Louisiana, 2008**

Eric looked at the daguerreotype, black and silver and marked with age. It felt impossibly long ago and yet only yesterday, sitting in the small, converted room in Berlin, feeling her both next to him and inside him, every emotion she felt or had ever felt as much a part of him as it was of her. He hadn't felt that connection in a very, very long time. He had tried to forget it, but that had only made it worse.

They looked so serious, imprinted together in the tin. Eric's face was crisp, stony, complete with the impassive visage he was known for. His ability to be still rewarded in physical proof. Sookie, though, was a blur. Her face was undefined, her movement at the time making her print hazy. She warbled like a ghost. Part of this world, part away. As if at any moment the rest of her would float into the ether, and nothing would be left but a guess and a memory. He brushed his thumb over her face, a move he'd once done so often that he'd worn down the material, making her permanence even more subjective.

He'd always gripped too tightly. He'd always tried too hard to hold on.

He placed the daguerreotype back in the wooden box inside his desk, closing the lid gently and sliding the drawer closed. He locked it with a small, bronze key and stood, walking out into the heart of Fangtasia.

It was a busy night. He hadn't intended to come in, having done his hours the previous evening. He wanted to spend time at home, but Pam's call changed everything. The urgency of it. He almost didn't believe her. It was impossible. If Sookie had been anywhere on this earth, he would've felt it. He always had. It wasn't an option for her to be here and stay unknown to him. But when he arrived, and the impossibility became the truth… well, there were no words for it. There was only belief.

Pam stood beside the empty throne on the raised dais at the front of the club. She was waiting for him. She understood he needed time without her; she understood more than he ever gave her credit for understanding. He began to make his way toward her, blind to the humans and the vampires surrounding him. How they looked at him with unabashed, unfathomable awe, lust, greed, hunger. It did not matter. Not now, not when the world had shifted on its axis.

"I was a stranger to her," Eric said, seating himself on the throne. Pam hissed at an approaching human seeing an opportunity in the moment; he scurried away abruptly.

"Do you forgive me?" Pam asked, kneeling before him. Eric looked at her blankly for a moment then waved his hand absently, having nearly forgotten Pam's earlier indiscretion. There were a thousand more important things. She took his movement as a yes, sighing in relief and standing back up to her rightful place by his side. He stared out passively at the club. He could still smell her.

"Were you right?" Eric asked, switching his language to his own ancient tongue in case any should overhear.

"About what?" Pam's brow furrowed.

"Was she under a spell?"

"No, I don't think so. Or I couldn't tell from the blood," Pam admitted.

Eric made a disgruntled noise, reaching up to press his fingertips to his temple.

"Why didn't you fetch her if she was here?" Pam asked. "I know things ended… badly… the last time. But that has never stopped you before."

"The blood bond is broken," he spat. Speaking the words aloud made them a reality he didn't want to face. "I didn't know."

"That's impossible," Pam said softly.

Eric didn't respond. It was impossible, but it was true. Just like how Sookie had returned to him. It was impossible, but it was true. How she called herself Bill's. Impossible, but true. How she looked at him, like she'd never met him, like they hadn't shared a thousand broken years between the two of them. Impossible. But true.

He toyed with the idea that she was being cruel with him because of what he said the last time. The scenes of regret he played on repeat in his mind, particularly in moments of weakness. But he had not known her to be so hard-hearted. She was meant to be the goodness, the light. She was the better part of him. But perhaps things had changed. It seemed impossible. But perhaps, like all the rest, it was true.

He stood up abruptly from the throne, causing a few of the humans in the club to gasp in surprise. He was there one moment and then he was gone, flying above Shreveport, following her scent in the air to the small, sleepy town of Bon Temps. He hadn't been there in years, not since the old guard had died out and moved on. It was laughable how close it was to Shreveport. Not even an hour of flight time, all in. She was so near to him and he had had no idea. But for how long?

All of the lights were off in her house. It was a bit run-down and off the beaten path, nestled in the woods beside a Confederate cemetery. He smelled her everywhere. It felt like every blade of grass carried her scent toward him. A gift, a curse. The home shimmered with a faint golden glow. He wasn't invited. He snarled and circled the perimeter in frustration, darting between the windows until he found what he was looking for. She was asleep in her bed, one arm thrown up above her head, her hair damp and wild. The blankets bunched around her waist, her legs tangled up in the sheets. Her heart rate was fast for sleep. Perhaps a dream, a nightmare.

He could see from his vantage point a faint flush in her cheeks, a bead of sweat on her brow. Carefully, he slid open the window a crack, letting the breeze in and her potent scent out. He inhaled slowly, examining her form like she was a stranger to him. Everything was as he remembered. He found no surprises. He knew her. Every aspect of her. That was the most painful part. It was Sookie, not an imposter. She had returned to him but not for him. She began to stir, her heart rate spiking as she rocked back and forth in her sleep. Suddenly, her eyes shot open and she glanced around the room. Eric flew back with vampire speed, cloaking himself in the dense wood nearby.

He watched as she got to her feet, padding barefoot over to the window. She stuck her head outside, her eyes drifting close, her head tilting up to the bright light of the moon. The stars had always called to her, she their blessed gift. His hand reached out and gripped the bark of the closest tree, breaking a branch with a sickening crack. He waited to see if she would hear, if her eyes would glance in his direction. They didn't. Instead, she ducked back inside and he was left alone in the night, waiting, hoping, for the impossible.

**Scandinavia, 930**

The flowers were long and woven through her hair, entangled with a series of braids tied off at the tips with twine.

"Soo-kee," Tove giggled behind her, "Your hair is done." All of the girls loved to pronounce her name slowly and with glee, elongating the vowels to emphasize their foreign nature. Sookie turned to the wholesome, red-haired girl. She carried a bundle of flowers in a wicker basket, ready to cart them to the next awaiting head of hair. Sookie smiled graciously, clutching Tove's hand between both of hers in thanks. The girl smiled her gap-toothed grin, ducking her head in embarrassment.

"I will be back, do not go out without me," she whispered into Sookie's ear. Both girls were on the shier side; they did not want to join the feast without the other as a crutch. Sookie waited patiently for Tove to finish up, smoothing down the woven fabric of her dress. It was tied as tight as possible in the back, emphasizing her small waist. Her shift overflowed slightly at the bust with two dangling strings, the fabric scratchy against her bare skin. She wasn't used to wearing so many clothes and she desired strongly to rid herself of them. But this was the camouflage of the evening and so she would wear it.

She was curious about the Vikings. Their stories were told all over the northern territories, of the land they conquered and the babies they bore. Strong, formidable, implacable. Beautiful. From what she'd seen so far, after joining the crowds of villagers as they made their way to the main stronghold for the yearly feast, the stories were very accurate. Sookie herself was naturally fair, what with her yellow hair and her clear blue eyes, but even she felt inadequate in the presence of this people. She felt weak and looked over. To compensate, she glowed. It was ever so slight, but it made the humans feel slightly cautious around her, a gut reaction to potential power.

Tove returned, complimenting her on the blue dye of her dress.

"It took me ages," Sookie confessed, still a bit conscious of the spotty patches.

"You did it yourself?" Tove asked. "I wish you had done mine too."

"You look beautiful," Sookie replied. It was true. Tove's dress was more fanciful than hers, adorned with shimmering threads. Sookie wondered how the rare material was acquired, then decided she'd rather not know.

Together, the two walked into the main hall, lined with tables for the feast. At the head of the room, slightly raised up, was a longer table that faced the rest. It had ten or twelve chairs, in which the centermost sat an older man, his beard losing color, a crude crown placed atop his head. To his left was a middle-aged woman, though she skewed older for the time period. Here, many died young, so it was strange to see people whose skin grew wrinkled and hair grew grey. To the man's right were three younger Vikings, all male, tall, fair, blonde. Two were held in deep conversation while the third looked extensively bored, his eyes roaming the crowds before him.

For a brief moment they locked on Sookie. She held her breath, frozen until his eyes moved through her, then away.

"That's Eric," Tove said as they found their seats, noticing the brief interaction. "He is the son of the King."

"A prince, then?" Sookie asked.

"Perhaps," Tove replied. "If he is strong enough."

He certainly looked strong enough to Sookie. Then again, she was unfamiliar with the Vikings and their culture. She intended to spend the night as an observer, an onlooker, a sponge for their society. Instead, she found herself pulled deep within its folds almost immediately, partaking in the abundance of food and drink and laughter. The hours rolled by, the night growing darker outside but the torches still warm and fiery within. The crowd began to get more raucous, tables moved as live music began, primarily deep-throated singers mixed with chants she couldn't begin to understand.

She spun around with Tove, laughing, her hair flowing behind her, dropping petals beneath her feet. Her eyes were closed when they stopped; she nearly crashed into Tove's frozen back. There, standing before them, was the potential prince. His tunic was stretched taut over his strong chest, the strings undone as if he'd just put it back on. Perhaps he had. His hair was long, but tucked behind his ears and chopped haphazardly at the shoulder. Up this close, she could see his rough layer of short beard, nearly as golden as the hair atop his head. A wilted flower sat in his open palm and he looked at Sookie expectantly. Was she meant to bow? To curtsey? To show respect in some outward fashion? Tove had not, so Sookie was at a loss.

"From your hair," Eric prompted as if she were slow, holding the flower out to her. She had to tilt her head all the way up to meet his gaze. She was surprised by the openness she found there. She'd heard of Vikings to be cruel and cold, but tonight all she'd seen was the opposite.

"Thank you," she managed, taking the flower, careful to avoid lingering touch on his skin.

He stood still for a moment, his face passive. Then, as if nothing had happened, he pushed past her and into the crowd, his tall form weaving through the revelers and out a heavy wooden door.

Tove turned toward her and squealed girlishly, clutching Sookie's forearm with both of her hands.

"What was that?" Sookie asked, bewildered.

"I cannot say," Tove breathed, "But I do believe he means to know you, Soo-kee."

x

Sookie awoke to the sounds of shouting outside. She lay among many of the other females on a thick bed of hay, close to a dying fire, its embers still casting warmth. She fumbled around in the darkness, her hands reaching outward and running into Tove's sleeping form. Tove smacked her lips in her sleep, turning over, her back now facing Sookie. Sookie stepped carefully around the sleeping bodies to the window, glancing down into the courtyard below. The moon shined bright, illuminating the muddy grounds, but she didn't see anything amiss. She glanced up to the turrets: there were no guards stationed at the gate, no men in the watchtower.

She heard another stifled shout and decided to investigate, creeping out of the sleeping quarters and into the hallway. A torch illuminated the stone floors and walls, the flickering light casting her shadow into wayward proportions. She grabbed it off its hook, slinking down the spiral stairs and into the great hall once more. She was wary to run into any guards or patrols; though they were no match for her supernatural abilities, she didn't intend to use them if she didn't have the need. It often meant that she had to leave the area, too, and she so very much desired to stay.

She did her best to stay out of sight, creeping close to the wall, following the sounds of what she was now certain was a fight. The noise began to grow louder and louder, until she could hear the clink of metal swords clashing, the thump of bodies, the jeers of onlookers as they watched it all happen.

It was a small crowd, maybe ten or fifteen people huddled near the horse's stables, illuminated by a few torchbearers. She walked silently behind them, attempting to peer through their bodies to see what was happening. It was two men, that much was obvious. A duel. Perhaps to the death, perhaps to first blood. She was unsure, until a deciding thrust spilt a splatter of blood into the mud below yet the duel continued to wage on. Both men were breathing heavily, their feet dragging and slipping in the moist ground below. Perhaps they were intoxicated, too, from the night's events. The watchers breathed exhilarated phrases in Old Norse, reacting to each moment in chorus. The tension in the air was thick, the effort to keep the scuffle quiet was at war with the desire to bathe in its violence.

One of the men lunged, his body colliding with a solid thwack, like a sack of flour dropped from too high a height. She heard a cry as the other man collapsed, blood spurting as he sunk to his knees in the mud, curling onto his side. The attacker remained standing as the crowd moved in to congratulate the winner, hands clapping on his shoulder in reward. A sword dropped to the ground; it dripped with blood. Then, without warning, the winner, too, fell sideways and into the mud. The crowd backed up in alarm, glancing left to right for a place to run. Sookie ducked into one of the horse's stalls, hiding behind a bale of hay as the crowd dispersed into the night, the two men laying in the mud, their faces staring up at the moon.

She dropped to a crawl, moving forward slowly on hands and knees, her dress now caked in mud. The first fallen was dead. That much was obvious. His face was slack, empty, his chest frozen solid. The other, however, was not. His chest rose and fell chaotically, his breathing erratic. With one hand he clutched at the mud beside him, searching for something. He was covered in mud and blood, but she could not see a fatal wound. She was up near his face before she recognized him. It was Eric. Eric, dying in the courtyard.

Sookie glanced around her, noticing the guards re-taking their watch positions. She cursed lowly under her breath, reaching beneath Eric's shoulder, enlisting her strength to pull him from view and into the stables, propped up slightly on a pile of hay. A horse whinnied at their arrival, stomping its front foot in righteous indignation. She willed it to calm, to quiet.

Eric's eyes were closed, his face smeared with dirt and blood, his hair drenched in both. She couldn't tell which blood was his and which was his opponent's, not without removing his clothing. She took a breath, steeling herself, then untied his tunic to reveal his chest and arms. He had a few small cuts on his biceps, but that wasn't the problem. It was the deep cut right above his lowest rib. It was gushing blood. She pressed against it with all of her force to staunch the bleeding and his eyes snapped open, whirling in their sockets before landing on her.

She could feel his attempt to extricate himself, pushing weakly with his arms.

"Stay still or you will die," Sookie warned, feeling the blood try to push itself against her palms. The pressure wasn't staunching the flow. She worried her efforts to be futile.

"Who are you?" he whispered, his hand coming up and grabbing at her dress before dropping back to the hay beneath him.

"It is no matter," she replied, pushing hard, her hands warming.

He looked down at where her palms pressed to his chest, the way they glowed, illuminating both of their faces in the dead of darkness. He gazed in wonder as the light grew, as it began to glow inside him, too.

"What are you?" he asked instead. His face was very pale; he was on death's door.

"I am Sookie," she said, answering his first question instead of his second. There was a flash of white light, it burnt hot around them, and a sound, a ringing followed by a void like suddenly losing pitch in the eardrum.

"Sookie," he breathed as she removed her hands from his chest slowly, the wound pulsating under the skin but, mercifully, closed. She felt weak, drained of energy. She would be punished for this. It was illegal to heal humans and she knew that. It was now too dangerous for her to stay here. The glow of her hands slowly faded until they were once again in darkness, with only the sound of the horses and the barely-there crackle of a distant torch.

She moved to leave but he grabbed her hand and held her still, half-crouched before him.

"Thank you. Sookie." He spoke slowly, with deep breaths between the words. He then began to slur and she was unable to understand him, the Old Norse turning to mush under his tongue. He let his hand drop and she stood. His eyes shone beneath her, staring up into hers. He would recover from this, grow stronger. He would fight. He would become King. She could see it all mapped out before her, the possibility within him, the power. It was limitless.

He would achieve greatness. And she would watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey. how are we feeling about the time jumps? i picture each vignette as a puzzle piece, but y'all don't have the photo reference so let me know if it's too confusing jumping around this much. stay healthy out there my friends x


	4. Blood and Salt

**Scandinavia, 930-936 ******

********

********

Sookie, out of sight and cloaked in shadow, watched.

He was found by the stablemaster the morning after the festivities, a stunned yet solemn man whose only desire that morning was to feed his fillies and instead found his prince unconscious and bleeding in a pile of hay. Sookie hid nearby as he called for help, carrying Eric’s form back into the stronghold and out of sight. It took four men to do it, each grabbing a limb as his limp body hung, rocking gently side to side, beneath them. 

She was forced to leave, then. To retreat into the waiting embrace of the forest, to dissolve effortlessly into the trees, to return to her homeland against her better judgment and her utmost desire. Her bare feet wove through the trees, gnarled roots reaching up in an attempt to entangle her, but to her these movements were as easy as breathing. She delved deeper into the wood, until the morning light was muted by the interlocking branches overhead. It was here, in these deep recesses of untraversed territory, that her portal home awaited. She felt its invisible hum, the air around it slightly hazy like opening one’s eyes underwater. She reached her hand out and tested its edges, watching as her fingertips dissolved and reappeared. A bird called a pleasant song above her, the ferns rustled with the wind, the moss sparkled with early morning dew. She took a deep, long breath; she didn’t want to leave.

When she arrived in Faerie, they were already waiting for her in a line, the centermost her grandfather Niall Brigant. Sookie, covered in the dirt and blood of the human world, stood out like a sore thumb. Her dress was ripped, her cheek sporting a thin, dried cut, her hair ratty and still littered with the dried petals of dead flowers from the night before. Still, she ran into the awaiting arms of her grandfather, who held her close albeit briefly, and stroked her hair in welcome.

“I’m sorry,” she said in advance of his admonishment, eyes growing moist. He shushed her with a small noise, taking her hand and leading her inside.

“You have some explaining to do, but let’s get you cleaned up first,” he said. They walked in silence to Sookie’s quarters, unused for some time but exactly the way she left it. The warm, golden light flooded out even from beneath the closed door of the room, little engravings cut into the ancient wood, a bronzed handle curved to fit her palm. She reached for it, but was stopped by a hand placed on top of her own. “Sookie?” Her grandfather recaptured her attention. “Welcome home.”

Sookie gave him a weak smile of thanks, stepping inside and shutting the door quietly behind her. Her room was filled with light; so much so that she needed time for her eyes to adjust. Faerie was much brighter than the human world, it acquired some getting used to after being gone for an extended period of time. This last delve into the human world had been for a handful of years, though to her family in Faerie it reflected only a few days. She hadn’t reached her deadline away, but she had broken the rules. She had no choice to return or else face further consequences. 

Sookie took in the scene before her: the white, clean silk of her bedsheets. The canopy of fabric. The small dresser where a vase of flowers still sat from before she’d left last. Wisps of floating smoke in the corners, almost like cobwebs. She fought the urge to shut the curtains around her window, to dim the light some. Being half-human, she was more sensitive to these things than the others, but the last thing she wanted to be seen as was weak. As someone who hides from the sun. She filled the bath with rosewater, lowering herself into the steaming liquid slowly, feeling her bones adjust to the heat and the warmth. Immediately, the water turned a brownish red color as the muck and grime of two years worth of human life drifted from her skin. 

Niall waited for her in one of the sprawling main rooms. He sat, regal as ever, talking quietly to two other fairies she knew by sight but not by name. He gestured for them to leave as she approached. They gave her quick, polite smiles on their departure. She was now clean, warm, fairy Sookie, not dirty, unpalatable human Sookie. That was all it took for the other fairies to start acknowledging her presence again. She sat down across from Niall, taking his hand in hers where it rested on the table. 

“Now,” Niall started, patting her hand politely then extricating it from her own. He was never one for too much affection. “Tell me, where were you this time? And what caused the unexpected use of your powers last night?”

She gave him the rundown of her time in the north; her nomadic presence, her ability to wander from village to village. Niall listened to her explanations with intense focus. He fancied himself a bit of an anthropologist of the human condition, but he also wanted to ensure that he had up-to-date information on all that was happening should any dangers to their race arise. The fairies were flourishing, many of them traipsing back and forth between Faerie and Earth freely and without abandon. As Niall’s granddaughter--and as a half-breed--Niall paid closer attention to Sookie’s comings and goings, though he acknowledged her desire and need to immerse herself in the other half of her biological makeup. 

“And last night?” he prompted, more urgent now.

“I was at a gathering. A Viking gathering. They are the primary instigators of violence in the north. I wanted to understand them outside of the context of war. They are a very lively people, very welcoming in fact. Their strength comes in numbers and their ability to bring their tribes together as one. The gathering was an example of that.”

Niall nodded along. He respected when humans were able to show force; he viewed them as weaklings, as toy soldiers. He admired their desire to fight even when their physical forms were so susceptible to harm and death.

“I happened upon a duel between soldiers. One of them was the prince of that area. There was something about him…” she trailed off, trying to put it into words. “I sensed something. A power. Potential. I’m not sure, it was hard to place exactly. He won the duel but suffered a deadly injury in the process. I did try to help him in the human way first. It didn’t work.”

“And you called upon your power to heal him?” Niall asked.

She thought back to the moment; how effortless it seemed at the time, how second nature. 

“I did not need to call. The power came to me without my asking,” she admitted.

Niall stroked his chin, contemplating this. Fairies were trained in using their powers. It required great internal strength, focus, and stamina to use it. It was like taking a part of one’s inner self and thrusting it outward against its will; out of necessity, out of self-defense, out of pure and absolute need. 

“And did you feel drained after?” he asked after a long moment.

“Yes. It took a lot.”

Niall seemed to find comfort in this, the normality of the response. Even purebred fairies felt depleted after extensive use of their power. With Sookie, naturally, it was even more so. Niall searched her expression, his own face tinged with pity. She knew that he felt her to be weaker than her counterparts. It pained him that she was half-breed. He wouldn’t even speak of the transgressions of his own grandson and she never found it agreeable or pertinent to ask. He was dead. Both of her parents were. That was all she knew and that was all that mattered. Fairies didn’t speak of the past, especially if the past was unpalatable. They looked only to the future, to the betterment of their race. 

“I don’t feel comfortable with you going back there while you are feeling weak. Plus, it is illegal to use our powers like that on a human. We are not gods and goddesses. We do not provide divine intervention.” He spoke slowly, deliberately. With finality.

“Grandfather, I know. Trust me when I say it wasn’t my intention. It just happened. Please, I only mean to check in now and again. Only moments in our time. You can even guard me, have another fairy wait by the portal,” she pleaded. Her desire to return to earth was overpowering now; she felt a connection caused by the outpouring of her light into him. It could not be broken. Perhaps only with his death. 

“Is this because of the human?” Niall asked. She swallowed, trying to damper her desperation.

“Yes,” she allowed. “Something passed between us when I healed him. I just need to see it through. On our timeline, he will be dead in only a few days, if that. Please.” It was difficult for her to admit to this, but humanity was fleeting, their lives only a brief imprint on those of the supernatural. She would watch as he grew strong, married, had children, and, if he was lucky, grow old, die. For her it would be but a moment. Only the flap of a hummingbird’s wing.

Niall sighed, contemplating her request. He could see little risk in it. What she said was true; the human would not live long and then their bond would break with his death. And when that bond was severed, she would realize why the healing of a human was illegal for their kind. The breaking of the bond was beyond painful. It was an atrocity. It was like having a piece of oneself removed and placed aside. Close enough to touch but impossible to restore. A hovering, conscious absence. He did not wish for Sookie to learn this the hard way but, unfortunately, it was inevitable.

“Fine,” he allowed. “But we will post a guard at the portal. You are not to overstay your welcome.”

“Thank you,” she smiled, revealing the gap between her two front teeth. The grin always weakend Niall and she caught him trying to tamper his own pleased reaction in response. 

Sookie made her way back to the portal a few hours later. Time was precious; she didn’t want to miss Eric’s entire lifetime while she waited in her bedroom in Faerie. As promised, there was a guard at the portal. He gave Sookie a cursory nod as she approached, not particularly friendly but not unfriendly either. Sookie sighed, nodding to him then stepping through the portal. 

She arrived back in Scandinavia in the dead of night, the forest dark and foreboding around her. An owl hooted its patient hello. She traipsed through the underbrush, feeling her way around the reaching branches, relying on intuition, on memory. Through the parted trees she began to see the flickering torches of the Viking stronghold. It had grown since her last departure. Though she had been gone for only a few hours, for the human world it was years. Clearly the Vikings had prospered in her absence, fortifying their buildings and increasing their populace. Sookie took to the shadows, deciding it best to wait until morning before venturing toward the doors of the keep. 

At first light, she approached the main guards, her head bowed politely. She used her best, demurred voice, offering herself as a traveling healer, aligning her presence as a welcome guest of the King in years gone by. The guards murmured to themselves, contemplating before letting her in. As it turned out, they were preparing for conquest and they were in need of healers to join as support. After determining her not to be a spy, they let her in, their swords still safely tucked in their sheaths. 

She wandered the early morning grounds, feeling a foreign pulse in her chest. It was warm; it tingled. Eric was nearby. She found herself wondering if he felt the same. The stables were packed with horses and there was a constant chink of a blacksmith hammering a new sword into form. As the hour grew later, more and more people emerged from the stronghold. They arrived from the outlying villages as well. Everyone had a job. Even small children were ferrying weaponry and armor back and forth between the buildings. Warriors moved through the crowds too, their expressions stern. They fought each other, sparring for practice, and broke wood against their shields to prove temerity. The air crackled with anticipation. The thrill of the hunt.

Sookie spotted Eric for the first time across the main courtyard. He wore a sheathed sword at his belt, but otherwise was unarmored. He carried a young child on his shoulders; a boy, perhaps three or four. The boy clutched Eric’s blonde hair tightly in his fists as he exited the building, his long strides carrying him with speed. He was healthy and strong. Older than she remembered, the boyish nature of his face completely erased. She felt the light inside her pulse once: hard, forceful. As if in response, he stopped in his tracks, his face whipping toward hers. 

For a long moment, they stood still. Movement surrounded them but it did not matter. Suddenly, the young boy shrieked, pulling on Eric’s hair. He snapped out of his frozen posture, reaching up and pulling the boy down to the ground, kneeling to his eye level and speaking softly but sternly. The boy ran off into the crowds and Eric stood once more. He walked quickly toward her, stopping only when they were inches apart. He towered over her, his face unfathomable.

“I thought I dreamt you,” he said abruptly, unconsciously clutching his chest where the wound once was. “Sookie. I am Eric.”

“I know,” Sookie replied. It felt ridiculous that he was introducing himself to her when their bond was already so strong. “It was no dream.”

“You look just the same as I remember,” he said. “Well, less mud.”

She laughed at his straight talk, surprised by it. He smiled quizzically, perhaps unaware what he’d said was funny. 

“You look the same as well,” she replied. “Less blood,” she added after a beat.

“Yes, because of your…” he gestured to her hands. She silenced him with a quick shake of the head. He knew, he remembered. The knowledge was dangerous for a human. 

“I stopped the bleeding,” she finished for him, ending any other allusions to her power. 

“Yes.” He dropped his voice lower. “I told no one.”

She nodded, looking off and away uncomfortably. She began to notice the searching expressions of the villagers around them. Even some of the warriors had taken pause in their preparations to throw them an appraising look or two. In response, she took a step backward, adding space between them. He furrowed his brow, clearly uncaring of the looks shot their way and closing the gap once more. 

“We leave when the moon is at its apex,” he said. “You will come to my quarters beforehand.”

She laughed again, bewildered. Once more, he looked utterly perplexed by her response. The absolute picture of a Viking who had never been told ‘no’ a day in his life. 

“You want for me to come to you? My wife may show concern,” he spoke again. “But I will do it. I must have you.”

Her jaw dropped and her cheeks flushed. She did her best not to laugh in his face a third time; she would have to add ‘forward’ to her list of Viking traits. She stumbled backwards, his presence suddenly overpowering in a way she was not prepared to face. 

“I will see you when the moon reaches its apex,” she mumbled, turning quickly and embedding herself in the bustling crowd, moving forward into the marketplace. After a few moments, she chanced a nervous look over her shoulder. He was stock still in the same spot, frozen, staring after her, watching patiently until she disappeared from view.

x

The army was larger than she’d anticipated. They’d amassed quite a powerful force, all in, with at least one hundred men and half as many horses. Sookie and the two others healers walked between them, patching up any wounds from previous battles or skirmishes before the advance. She didn’t know where Eric was but she could feel him nearby; she chose not to seek him out, not after their last interaction. Eric, though, seemed to have other ideas.

Moments before their departure, he came up behind her on his horse. He wore a leather tunic and trousers armed partly with chainmail, a long cape and shield attached to his back. He looked royal, she realized, before remembering that that was exactly what he was. He held out his hand to her and she took it, placing one foot on his boot and using the leverage of his forearm with her other hand to propel her onto the horse behind him. Not one for sidesaddle, she removed the small knife from her satchel and cut a slit in her linen dress, allowing her to spread her legs on either side of the large animal. 

He did not wait for her to settle, digging his heels into the side of the horse and propelling them forward, moving to the front of the army. He stopped there, cantering back and forth before the crowd, examining and surveying. He was a clear leader, but he did not command the space with loud speeches and boisterous actions. Instead, he came up to men individually, leaning in and adjusting their armor, checking their swords, offering words of strength and encouragement. His voice was soft but forceful. It required full attention and offered no second chances. 

Sookie was not acknowledged by the Vikings. In fact, they treated her like she was not on the horse at all. It was for the best; she was expending all of her effort just to stay astride, never having ridden behind another person before. It was harder still when he took off at a gallop, riding ahead into the night with only a few others. He glanced back at her a few times, perhaps gauging her steadiness, before ignoring her once more for hours on end. They kept up the pace until daylight, then used the morning hours to rest and feed the horses, sheltering in the underbrush of a collection of closely-knit trees.

Eric surprised her by not letting her out of his sight even in these moments of reprieve. Silently, he would build a makeshift bed on the mossy layer of forest floor, removing his cape and draping it over a welcome spot. He took her hand and lay with her on the fabric, curling around her, her back pressed up against his chest. He would fall asleep in only moments, the feel of his slow breathing on her neck, his arm clutching her dress just beneath her breast. He did not ask permission but, at the same time, he never did anything untoward. He simply slept, his legs entangled with hers, his heartbeat steady and slow until her rhythm was just the same. On the third night of this, he finally spoke.

“Tomorrow we will fight,” he whispered from his place behind her ear. “I need you near to me.”

It was half confession, half order. Half fear, half desire. She shifted slightly and he lifted his heavy arm, allowing her to turn to face him. She placed both hands on the side of his face, fingers in his hair, palms over his strong jaw. He gripped her forearm with his large hand, staring at her, waiting. She moved slowly, keeping her eyes open as she kissed him softly, chastely. First his lips, then his forehead, using her hands to maneuver his face downward, until her cheek rested lightly atop his hair, his ear at her heart.

“I will be near to you,” she promised. Warmth hummed from within her; her connection with Eric glowed. 

He was true to his word. The next evening, they crested a steep hill, revealing an army camped and ready below them. There were countless huts and roaring fires, voices of men in chorus as far as the eye could see, all the way to the distant sea beyond. Eric left her for the first time, dismounting his horse and scouting the grounds on foot under the cover of night. They were outnumbered. They would be even after the main fighting force arrived, half a day behind on foot. She could see it, and she could tell from Eric’s stiff features that he could see it as well. The leaders, Eric included, gathered in a small huddle distant from her. She wondered if they were going to call off the siege, but when Eric returned to the horse she knew that that was not the decision made.

He helped her off the horse then set to work, sharpening his sword and fixing his armor in silence. She stood by. The night was silent; eerily so. It was clear, cloudless, and without a hint of wind. Not even a rustle in the stalks of grass. It was as if the earth were waiting calmly, patiently, but with bated breath. Paying respects before the impending carnage. 

The rest of the army arrived undetected just as the sun rose. She could smell the salty brine of the North Sea all mixed up with the scent of campfire and of men. As they prepared for the first assault, Sookie took refuge with the other healers off to the side, gathering cloth for bandages and filling buckets of salt water, cleaning knives and rolling twine. They worked quickly and with focus, tuning out the growing energy around them. She was surprised when Eric approached, as were the other healers. All looked up in awe. He held his longsword out and open in his right hand, unsheathed, its tip glinting. Otherwise, he seemed much the same. 

Sookie stood, gauging his attitude to determine what it was he needed. He reached out quickly and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her small form. She felt the insistent cold of steel on her back as the flat edge of the blade, too, pressed tight. He moved back just as quickly, stepping away from her and returning to his men, his face impassive bordering on brutal. A readiness as steely as the sword in his hands. The other healers looked at Sookie in question. When she offered no clarification they immediately went back to work. 

The first wave of attacks began abruptly and with a surge of noise. Sookie ran to the top of the hill overlooking the battle as men charged forward, many of them unarmored, both for ease of movement and due to the belief that they were blessed by the god Odin himself. Blessed though they may be, many still fell before the swords of their enemies, some with an almost romantic ease and others with brutal, crushing agony. Sookie and the other healers could only wait for the injured to be brought to them; it was too dangerous for them to drop into the fray themselves. So, they waited. For hours. Sookie tried to keep an eye on Eric, but amidst the chaos it was nearly impossible to spot his tall, blonde form. After some time, the fighting slowed. Both sides held numerous casualties and neither had gained any ground. Some of the soldiers stopped fighting to drag the bodies of their injured brethren up to Sookie and the others.

There was little they could do. Most of the warriors were beyond help but they did the best they could, patching up wounds and staunching blood flow where possible. One of the healers chanted above the bodies of the mortally wounded, incense burning hot in her hands as she swayed.

Night began to fall. Sookie assumed the fighting would stop, but the Viking strategy was the opposite. They launched a new assault, more men charging down the hill, leaving little to no backups above. Sookie looked on, filled with tension as Eric led the advance, his large body surprisingly graceful, his longsword thrust into the supine neck of an attacker, his bicep flexing as he removed the blade to continue on. The battle continued in this manner until the night grew too dark, until it was impossible to see. The sounds were quieting but no soldiers were returning. Those back at the camp began to look around in concern, debating a retreat. All of the leaders were gone. The prince hadn’t returned. 

Sookie could take it no longer. She descended the hill, torch in hand. Immediately, she was assaulted by the smell of the dead. The metallic ring of blood, the lifeless limbs, the almost animalistic nature of the corpse. There was still some fighting, she could hear the sound of bodies and the clink of swords meeting, but they were distant and muted. Mostly completed. She picked her way through the bodies, some alive but most dead. Arms reached out to her, legs twitched, torsos shuddered. She searched desperately for Eric, dropping to her knees at times, lifting shields as she went to reveal the dead beneath them. 

His eyes were open when she found him. They were already locked on her approach. She tripped over to him, to where he lay, blood in his mouth and elsewhere, a pool of it growing beneath him. His sword and shield were gone, perhaps stripped of him for another, uninjured warrior. She stuck the torch in the ground, using both hands to grab his, already sticky with blood. He gripped back but he did not speak. Content, it seemed, to look in her eyes instead. She pressed her palms to his chest, willing them to glow, drawing on her power as much as she could. It did not work like the last time. She was depleted still, her fingertips managing nothing more than a flicker. He shook his head, bringing the back of her hand to his lips, trailing a bloody kiss there. 

“I am so sorry,” she whispered, smoothing back his hair from his forehead. He just shook his head again, using the last of his strength to pull her to him. She acquiesced, laying down in the mud, resting her ear on his chest, clutching tighter with each passing heartbeat, knowing every one was closer to his last. She let her eyes drift closed listening in, for the first time, to his thoughts. They were murky and strange, he was floating in and out of consciousness. Each emotion was pure and new. When he pictured her, he felt warm. She sniffed, her tears a match for the nearby sea, a story of salt. 

It was when she stopped listening that she felt it. The void. Pressing down on her. Approaching fast. She shot up, Eric’s arm dropping from its place around her shoulders, his eyes flickering open. 

Vampire.

She had been warned time and again how common vampires were at the scenes of battle. It was one of the only places where they could feed uninhibited. But this vampire wasn’t just nearby. It was approaching her exact location. She felt the silence grow closer and closer with rapid speed. She glanced fearfully at Eric, pressing a kiss to his lips on impulse, then moved to stand, her feet slipping. The void was drawing ever-nearer. He clutched at her desperately, fingers grabbing without direction.

“I need you near to me,” he choked out, blood dripping from the side of his mouth down his cheek. Those same solemn words from earlier, the meaning changed a thousand times over. 

She shook her head, torn between life and death, feeling the vampire close in, knowing she had to run but wanting nothing more than to stay. In the end, at the last moment, instinct won out. She vaulted away, rushing toward the sea, tripping on the outstretched arm of a dying man and falling, tumbling, landing in a heap of the dead. She breathed slowly, cloaking her scent as best she could. Cautiously, she peeked over a still corpse, her eyes searching for the flickering torch she abandoned, for Eric himself. 

In the distance, she could still see him. The vampire now curled around his body like a parenthesis, his naked back glowing in the firelight. She couldn’t see the vampire’s face, but she knew. The pale skin, the feral form, the way he slowly dragged his nose up Eric’s body, clearly smelling the remnants of Sookie on his skin. He was speaking, though she couldn’t hear what was said. She saw Eric nod once, very slowly. The vampire gave one last look around before leaning over and sinking his fangs ruthlessly into Eric's neck. Eric convulsed then stilled, his body lifeless.

Sookie could watch no more.

**Louisiana, 2008**

After nightfall, Sookie took to the cemetery. She figured she ought to find Bill before pursuing anything further with this Eric character, even though she couldn’t seem to get him out of her head. She wore a light summer dress, something to ward off the humidity of summer. It tended to be unbearable even after the sun went down. She was about to knock on the door of the old plantation home with her fist when it opened, Bill waiting inside. She jumped, surprised.

“Good Lord,” she scolded, “At least pretend to be a little human for a girl, would you?”

“My apologies,” Bill said, ever the Southern gentleman. He stepped aside, letting her pass through the threshold into his home. She walked over to the sitting room. Light piano music played on the radio. It all felt very formal and dated to Sookie. 

“So…” she started, wringing her hands in her lap. 

“You want to talk about Eric, I presume? Everyone does.” He sounded annoyed at this.

“Well it’s not just because he’s good lookin’, Bill. He did try to lock me in his basement if you recall,” she responded, her attitude leaking in. 

“Look, Sookie. He has a… how do I put this… a penchant for taking a blonde-haired female as his pet. He always has, everybody knows it. And Eric is used to getting what he wants.”

“I told him I was yours, Bill. Plus, you think I’m just gonna do whatever Eric says because he thinks blondes have more fun?” Sookie scoffed. Before Bill could respond, there was a sharp rap on his front door. Bill hissed, his fangs dropping.

“Great,” he grumbled, “Just wonderful.”

“Compton,” Sookie heard a low voice say from the door. She turned her head to see Eric stalking toward her, all black jeans and leather jacket. He left Bill behind to shut the door. Gone was the openness on his face from the night prior. She could see the darkness in him now. The predator. Sookie did her best not to clam up or show weakness, holding her back ramrod straight.

“Sookie,” Eric said, making himself at home, sitting across from her in a wingback chair. He crossed one long leg over the other, his arms draped casually over the armrests. “What’s this I hear about blondes having more fun?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Sookie smiled politely. He smirked then, leaning forward, uncrossing his legs and tenting his fingers, resting his chin upon them.

“Leker du med mig, min kärlek?” His voice was serious, his eyes staring into hers. 

Sookie stared at him blankly.

“I only speak English,” Sookie said as if it were obvious.

“Americans,” Bill smiled, trying to ease the immediate tension in the room. Eric glanced up at him as if he'd forgotten Bill was there at all. 

“Do not speak,” Eric ordered.

“Now that’s just rude,” Sookie objected, “You’re a guest in this house.”

Eric rolled his eyes, standing up. Sookie could feel the frustration in him, in the way he held himself, the way his muscles twitched in anticipation for a fight. She heard a low rumble in his chest, an animalistic warning growl. Bill’s eyes flashed and he took a step closer to Sookie, though Sookie knew enough about vampires to know that the move would be futile against someone like Eric. 

“Enough of this,” Eric said, dropping fang and plunging a bite into his own wrist. He shot over to Sookie in a fraction of a second and held the bloody bite above her mouth. “You will drink,” he ordered.

Sookie clamped her mouth shut, shaking her head aggressively from side to side. 

“You will,” Eric implored, his face so close to hers, eyes menacing, fangs sharp, vampiric and evil. “Or I will make you.”

“Sheriff, please,” Sookie heard Bill protest in the distance. 

She felt trapped, imprisoned by his form as he curled around her, forcing her to drink the blood from his rapidly healing wound. She felt her eyes well up as she continued to deny his request, looking at him in fear and nothing more. A tear fell and he blinked once as if broken from a trance, his fangs retracting automatically. She saw something in his eyes then, something that was hidden behind his aggression. Something human.

He staggered backward slightly and then was gone, disappearing from the room as if he were never there at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leker du med mig, min kärlek = "Are you toying with me, my love?" according to Google translate. my swedish coworkers would be absolutely furious with me right now. sorry y'all! by the way, i read & cherish every single review. stay healthy x


	5. Patience and Promise

****

**Louisiana, 2008**

Sookie knew she was dreaming.

She was hyper-aware, sure that if she wanted to manipulate her situation through sheer force of will, she would be able. In this state, she felt powerful. She realized she was flying, though not of her own accord. Beneath her there was only darkness, above her only stars. She tested the air, moving her arms in a circular motion like swimming through deep water. Her actions did not affect her flight; it was the arm encircling her waist, the one carrying her, that dictated the direction. She tried to turn her head to see who it was, what other human could possibly possess the power of flight? She swiveled her neck on its axis, nearly able to see the glint of hair in the moonlight. And then she dropped.

She hurtled toward the darkness below, limbs wild. The wind that rushed around her falling body felt warm, almost like a caress. The farther she fell, the more in focus the earth appeared beneath her. The tips of fir trees, swaying slightly. A distant, moonlit pond. Rolling hills, clearings, dead trees in the distance, dried, aged stumps, the result of an extinguished fire. She reached the tops of the trees, twigs snapping as she broke through them. She expected to hit the forest floor. Instead, she kept falling. Through it and into the earth itself, deep to the core. There was a distant light: orange, yellow, then white. She had to squint against its glow.

Then came the pain. She tried to stop it, tried to tell herself that it was only a dream, that she could change it, that she could wake up if she needed to. But every variable she tried to adjust stayed locked in. She was following a pre-meditated narrative. She was dreaming an unchangeable dream. She was living a memory. The pain came from deep within her, like she herself contained the center of the world. It was a searing heat, a hot scalpel taken to virgin skin, digging and digging and digging. Her body was tense, contracted, waiting for the pain to lessen but instead it only grew more excruciating, diverging within her to her outermost extremities, so singular she began to grow numb.

She felt hands softly caressing her face, calming her, whispering soothing words as she took deep, heaving breaths, trying to exhale all that was happening inside her.

"Soon," the voice was whispering, "It will all be over soon."

Though her eyes were closed, the thin skin of her eyelids glowed red hot, like if she opened them for a moment she would be staring directly at the sun itself. She chanced a glance, opening her eyes, seeing only a blinding white light, so bright that it, too, was pain. She knew danger lay in darkness, but evil, she now knew, grew with light.

She woke up late, the sun high in the sky, signaling midday. When she opened her eyes her vision spotted, like staring too long at the sun during a long car ride. She rubbed them with her fists, squinting, shuffling out of bed as she did so. Gran's TV was on extra loud, she could hear the laugh track of whatever show she was watching through the floorboards of her own room. She'd left Bill's the night before relatively early, at least for her standards. She had taken to staying with him until he met the sun, but it was beginning to wear on her physically, plus she was starting to feel a little less affection toward the vampire after the way he'd basically handed her to Eric on a not-so-silver platter.

He'd tried to get her to stay, explaining to her again that he was much younger than Eric in the whole Confederate soldier versus actual dang Viking thing, plus there was some weird vampire bureaucratic stuff that politically precluded Bill from doing anything violent. If he tried, he'd end up on an actual silver platter. Or staked. Basically, there were no options. What Eric wanted, Eric got. It infuriated Sookie to no end. She knew she'd agreed, at least internally, to hear him out, but all he'd done so far was show violence and be downright rude. Granted, he was a vampire, but Bill had shown her a small degree of civility, so she knew they were capable in some way. Even if Bill's manners were just to get in her pants.

She spent the rest of the afternoon messing about at home, helping Gran with her garden, doing a bit of light baking, sitting on the porch swing as the sun dropped down behind the distant trees.

"Are you going to see Bill tonight, Sweetheart?" Gran asked, stifling her yawn with her hand.

"Maybe after my shift, but I'm not sure…" Sookie trailed off. She was already wearing her Merlotte's uniform. It was a Friday and she was working the late shift: her least favorite. It started after dinner service and continued until close which, thankfully, was only 2AM in rural Louisiana. Every type of crowd came out in full force, looking to let loose at the start of the weekend. She appreciated that Merlotte's was a neighborhood spot, but that also meant every person that came in knew everything about Sookie. Most importantly, that she'd always been a little different, that she might be crazy, that they should stay away, and that now, on top of everything, she was probably a filthy fangbanger.

"Are you havin' second thoughts about Bill?" Gran asked, breaking her from her quiet reverie after sensing the hesitation in Sookie's voice.

"No," was her gut response. Then she edited, "Well, maybe. I'm not sure. I just think he's a little different than he was when we first met."

"Perhaps he isn't what you were expectin'. He is a vampire, after all," Gran said.

"Gran," Sookie admonished, "I thought you were keepin' an open mind!"

"Of course, dear," Gran replied, patting her hand with a placative nature. "You know me. My mind's as open as a window on the first day of Spring."

"Thanks," she smiled, sensing no ill will in her grandmother. As always, she was her number one supporter, even when Sookie made questionable decisions like dating a 200-year-old vampire with a working knowledge of Confederate military technique. "Well, I'm off," Sookie said, kissing Gran on the cheek and walking through the overgrown yard to her car.

"Don't make trouble, now," Gran called from the porch. "You know that Sam Merlotte's got a thing for you!"

"You wish!" Sookie called, dropping into the driver's seat. She stuck her hand out the window to wave goodbye, her little car bumping over the two-track dirt road as she pulled away from her rural home. The drive to Merlotte's was short. When she arrived, she could see that it was going to be a long night. The parking lot was packed, she had trouble even weaving her way around to the back to get to the employee lot. She could hear the music and the thoughts already. She sighed, steeling herself before entering through the back.

It was like being enveloped by noise. It surrounded her, all-encompassing, until it nearly faded into the background in one steady stream. Like white noise, if white noise was super distracting in any given circumstance. She pushed through the double doors that separated the back hallway from the main bar, nearly colliding with Sam in the process.

"Thank God you're here, Sook," he said, quickly passing her two pints of Louisiana's finest, watery beer. "Can you take these over to table nine? I've got to piss like a racehorse."

"Good grief, Sam, too much info," she scolded, but she took the pints from him and brought them over anyway.

The next few hours were a blur of cat calls, drunken come ons, and even a few almost-fights between two of the guys that lived in the trailer park a few miles down the road. She did her best to block out the majority of the thoughts, though when she caught eyes with a few of the boys she went to school with it tended to be a more difficult task. The overwhelming opinion was to stay away from her-it always had been-but just because they shouldn't touch the merchandise didn't mean they couldn't admire it. That seemed to be the prevailing thought of the evening, anyway. Ever since she'd taken some of Bill's blood, she'd gotten more attention based on her physical appearance than ever before. It made her hair shinier, her tan warmer, her cheeks brighter. She was just an upgraded version of herself, which, all in, had actually only done her more harm than good with the Bon Temps male population.

She was blocking out yet another lurid thought when she felt the unmistakable pressure of a vampire void at the front door. She turned, hoping to meet the welcome face of Bill. The universe, of course, had other plans.

Eric scanned the restaurant with disdain, his eyes sweeping over the scene with muted judgment. They stopped when they reached Sookie but, to her surprise, they didn't linger. Instead, he found a seat at a booth in Arlene's section, looking entirely out of place in what she was now beginning to recognize as his standard all-black getup and bright vampire glow. She noticed then that he glowed more than Bill did, perhaps because of his age, perhaps due to something more. She also saw that he'd cut his hair some, though it still wasn't as short as a crew cut it was definitely shorter, now slicked back behind his ears in a more modern men's hairstyle instead of long around his shoulders. He blended in slightly better this way, but only slightly.

After all, the entire bar had grown practically dead silent as his arrival. To her surprise, though, the thoughts weren't wondering about what a clear and obvious vampire would be doing in Merlotte's on a Friday night. Instead, they were focused almost entirely on Eric's otherworldly beauty. The women were absolutely losing it, some of them already plotting ways to casually walk by the table then effortlessly break through Eric's stony exterior. Even some of the men were having thoughts, though most were threatened by his presence and worried about their own dates leaving them for him. Sookie was dying to know what Lafayette, the flamboyantly gay line cook, would think. She almost smiled thinking about it.

That's when she realized Eric was looking at her again, a bit quizzically this time. She broke from her thoughtful trance, turning an about face and running into the back office. Sam was there waiting behind his desk, just finishing up a call with a supplier. He placed the phone down on the hook.

"What's the big rush?" he asked her, tilting his head to the side, his shaggy brown hair brushing his shoulder.

"Just a crowd is all," Sookie lied, "Had to get away for a sec. I'm good now."

"You can stay longer," Sam offered, his thoughts suddenly tinged with lust.

"I'm good thanks," she repeated, grinning overly bright, backing out of the office and into the bar. The crowd volume had picked up again and Arlene was approaching Eric to take his order. She worried Eric would cause a scene and demand to speak to Sookie or be served by her. Instead, she watched as Arlene jotted something down on a notepad then return back to the bar to fill the order. Sookie raised an eyebrow.

"He's a vampire!" Arlene exclaimed when she got close enough. Sookie, after a beat, realized she was meant to be surprised.

"You're kiddin'," she responded in a breathy voice. "What'd he order?"

"TruBlood. B negative. Think we got some of that, actually. Sam placed an order after Bill came in a couple weeks back." She reached around the back of the bar to the fridge, rooting through the bottles of Bud Light and Modelo until she found the TruBlood hiding carefully out of sight in the back. Arlene pulled out a bottle then opened it, placing it on her tray. Sookie had half a mind to see what would happen if Eric was given cold synthetic blood, but for Arlene's sake Sookie stopped her.

"Warm it up first, hon, they like it better," Sookie said, popping open the microwave.

"You're a real vampire expert now, aren't you?" Arlene asked. Sookie took a quick delve into her mind to see what Arlene really thought about the whole vampire thing. She was tentative, that was certain, particularly about her kids at home and the dangers vampires posed as a whole. But on the other end of the spectrum she was curious. Intrigued. She admired Sookie for carrying on with Bill, she didn't look down on her though she wouldn't do it herself, that was certain. Plus, all the vampires she'd encountered so far had been so _handsome_ , most of all the one waiting for the blood she was heating up. What she wouldn't mind doing to that…

Sookie threw down the steel wall of her mind, blocking out any fantasizing Arlene was wont to do while staring at a microwave of lukewarm B negative.

"I'm no expert," Sookie responded even though Arlene clearly wasn't listening any longer.

Sookie made her way behind the bar, pretending to rinse out some of the used glasses while covertly watching Eric in his booth. He accepted the blood from Arlene but didn't make eye contact even though she leaned over unnecessarily far in order to give him a glimpse down her shirt. His face remained eerily passive, almost stoic. It only showed change when he sipped his blood, the first taste causing a clear grimace. Otherwise, he simply sat there. He looked around the bar a bit, though sparingly, then took out his phone and typed quickly with his absurdly long fingers.

Sookie watched, enraptured, as one of the local girls approached. Her name was Denise and she was in Sookie's brother Jason's year in school. Him and Denise had hung out a few times, if you considered fucking like rabbits in the back of Jason's pickup truck during high school passing time 'hanging out.' Denise was pretty enough, at least Sookie always thought so. She had long, straight, dirty-blonde hair that she kept carefully brushed and she wore, big hoop earrings, a lacy top, ripped, tight jeans and cowboy boots. She pretended she was just passing by, hoping Eric would stop her as most of the human boys had all her life. When he didn't even give her a second glance, she tried another tactic, waiting a few moments before sliding into the booth uninvited.

From Sookie's place on the other side of the restaurant, she couldn't hear what they were saying. But Eric had made eye contact with Denise. He was very clearly examining her, judging her, testing her for something. It looked like a hunt. At Sookie's angle, she couldn't see Denise's face. But she could see the way Denise was leaning forward, her hair a curtain, her fingers stroking Eric's bottle of TruBlood with a clear promise for more.

"You're staring," Sam said, suddenly beside Sookie. She jumped, nearly dropping the glass she was cleaning.

"No I'm not," Sookie denied hastily, grabbing another glass to prove she was still hard at work.

"Why's Eric Northman here, anyway?" Sam asked, placing his hands down on the barback. She could sense the unease in his mind. It had a territorial bent, like he felt the need to prove to Eric that he owned the place. Sookie had never been able to get super precise, clear thoughts out of Sam, but she chalked that up to every human being slightly different. Sam was more emotionally-driven, that much was clear. What she didn't sense was surprise. Sam knew Eric.

"How do you know him?" Sookie asked, turning her attention more fully to Sam. It was growing unbearable to watch Denise and Eric flirt.

"He owns the vampire club in Shreveport. It's a pretty big deal if you're into that type of crowd. It's hard to be a," Sam hesitated, "...bar owner... in northern Louisiana without knowing about Eric."

Sam then took a harder look at Sookie, crossing his arms over his chest. "And how do you know him?"

Sookie felt caught out. She swallowed; her gut instinct was to lie even though she had nothing to hide.

"I went to the club with Bill. It's called Fangtasia. He was, uh, there," Sookie said, leaving out some pretty important details.

"You were at Fangtasia?" Sam repeated slowly, with disbelief.

"You got a problem, Sam Merlotte?"

"Just doesn't seem like your scene is all," Sam said, backing down quickly.

"Well maybe there are a few things you don't know about me, Sam," she said shortly. She put down the damp rag she'd been using to clean the glasses, pushing past him just in time to see Eric leave with Denise trailing behind, his half-drunk glass of TruBlood still on the table in the booth. Unbelievable. Sookie tried her best not to get riled up, though she did spend the rest of her shift aggressively placing down pints and wiping tables with unmatched vigor. She had no reason to be upset. If anything, this was a good thing. Eric could move on from terrorizing her to terrorizing someone else like, for example, Denise. She just didn't understand why he had to partake in all this right in front of her like he was toying with her. Hell, he probably was. It was absolutely infuriating.

The next night, Saturday, the very same thing happened. Eric came in alone, just past sundown, eyes scanning the place until they landed on her. Then, very slowly and very deliberately, he sat down in a booth. This time it was in her section. He knit his hands together on the table, face forward, waiting. Sookie groaned, placing down the orders she was carrying and heading toward the bar. She passed Arlene in the process, grabbing her forearm and yanking her behind the double doors near the kitchen.

"Sookie, what the hell?" Arlene protested, extricating her arm.

"Sorry, Arlene. Listen, could you do me a favor? The vampire from last night, he's in my section. Could you take him off my hands? I'll owe you one."

As she was speaking, it occurred to Sookie that Eric could probably hear every word that she said, given that Bill could often hear Sookie from impossibly far away all the time. She cringed, worried this would end up coming back to haunt her. Given Eric's flair for the dramatic, she wasn't exactly hopeful.

"Why? What's wrong?" Arlene asked.

"My section's just real full," Sookie lied. "Plus, you seemed to like him last night, right?"

"Sure, I mean, he was polite," Arlene said casually, though a blush rose to her cheeks. Sookie was careful to keep her shields up as she knew Arlene's fantasizing had likely returned in full force.

"Great. I'll get you back, promise." Sookie grinned, stepping through the doors like Arlene had agreed to her request. Eric was watching her right as she entered, his eyes glinting with anger. He'd definitely heard every word. But when Arlene went to take his order, he was once again cordial, asking for a bottle of B negative and nothing more. She could see his hands grip the drink tightly, but he made no advance toward Sookie. In fact, he didn't even leave with any women that night, though several, some even prettier than Denise, did give good college tries.

Sunday night was quieter, mostly a dinner crowd, though some stayed late to drown their sorrows over the impending work week. They closed earlier, too, around midnight. Because of this, Sookie assumed Eric wouldn't come. She was wrong. He arrived, once again, just after sunset. The dinner rush was ending, only a few stragglers at the tables, the majority of the patrons lined up at the bar chatting with each other and with Sam. He sat down in the same booth, knowing it was her section. She sighed. Arlene didn't work Sundays; she spent the day at church in the morning, then the evening with her kids. There was no one Sookie could trade with.

She took a breath then walked over, her blonde ponytail bouncing with fake cheer behind her.

"What can I get for you today?" she asked, her pen poised over her notepad. Eric looked up immediately, dragging his eyes from the top of her head, lingering on her neck before continuing down the standard issue but very tight Merlotte's uniform of a t-shirt and short shorts. Sookie was proud of her tan, it looked especially nice against the uniform, but in this particular circumstance she wished herself to be as white as a vampire.

"B negative," Eric said, his voice surprising her. It was softer than she remembered and there was less urgency. He still had that strange, foreign affect. An unplaceable accent that was surely far from local. Sookie gave him one of her best smiles, the kind she reserved for her most problematic customers, before turning on her heel to get his blood. When she returned with it, he spoke as she was placing it on the table before him.

"Care to join me?" he asked.

"Can't," Sookie said. "On the clock."

She was hyper-aware that the bar was nearly empty around her but she held her ground. He raised an eyebrow at her, clearly thinking the same thing but not challenging her on it.

"And does the slavedriver give his thrall a break?" he asked slowly. She could hear an edge to his tone now; vampire patience was notoriously thin.

"He does," Sookie replied, "But not for another hour."

Eric nodded, then took out his phone while Sookie stood there awkwardly. He glanced up at her after a few moments.

"Are you not on the clock?" he asked with a small smirk.

"Yes. Right," she said, flustered, heading back to the bar. _Stupid._

Now she had to find something to do for an hour. She took refuge in the back for a bit, cleaned a few glasses, had a chat with a couple tourists passing through as they made their way on a road trip to New Orleans. The minutes dragged by as Eric, too, waited in his booth, casually sipping his TruBlood, unbothered by the murmurings of the restaurant around him. He kept his gaze carefully downward, either at his phone, the table or the blood. When 10PM finally rolled around, Sookie bit her lip before approaching his booth. She could feel Sam's eyes on her back as she walked. She hovered for a second before sliding along the plastic across from him, settling herself down.

"And why does the owner of a bar feel the need to drive all the way out to Bon Temps just to pay for blood from a different bar?" Sookie asked when he looked up at her, placing his TruBlood aside.

"Just checking out the competition," he offered, "Plus, I didn't drive."

"Can't imagine you took the bus," Sookie said.

"I didn't take the bus," Eric replied. "Discussing my methods of transport isn't actually why i'm here, Sookie."

"Then why are you here?" she asked, filing away the whole transportation thing for another time.

"Pam said I should take a different approach with you. I believe her words were to be more _reasonable_." He drew out the word reasonable like it was beneath him to say it.

"And does reasonable mean not bargin' in unannounced and forcin' me to drink your blood?" Sookie challenged. She knew she was pushing his buttons; part of her wanted to see how far she could push. When he didn't answer, she sighed, putting her palms on the table, pushing up to stand and leave. He caught her wrist in his hand before she could go, leaning forward, honing in with those devastating eyes.

"I won't force you to drink my blood." He released her, then smirked. "I'll wait for you to ask."

"Cocky," she replied. "What do you want from me, anyway?"

"Everything," he responded instantly.

" _Eric._ "

"I'll take you telling me about yourself. For a start," he allowed, taking a sip of his blood. She could see the faint coating of red on his teeth.

"Okay…" Sookie began, "If you promise to keep your hands and fangs to yourself."

"I don't make promises to humans," he said, his eyes searching hers intently on the word 'human.' "Though for you I suppose I can make an exception."

"Gee, that's so courteous of you, Sheriff."

His fangs snicked down abruptly when she said his title, but he wasn't looking at her with anger. He was looking at her with lust. That was surprising. She filed that little fact away, right next to the transportation discussion. Something for another time.

"Sookie, break's over," Sam called from the bar. He was staring at her intently, his brow furrowed in distaste, hands on his hips. Sure enough, fifteen minutes had passed. She sighed, sliding back out of the booth. It wasn't like there were other customers to serve but Sookie could tell Sam wasn't about to budge on this.

"I get off at midnight," Sookie offered on impulse, surprising herself. "If you can be patient."

Eric retracted his fangs but his smile was no less predatory.

"Sookie, you have no idea how patient I can be."

**London, 1401**

Eric was tired of being so _fucking_ patient.

Sookie told him a few months, perhaps a year tops. And then she would be back and they could leave this useless coven of vampires together. The plan was to go to France, meet Godric there, and hold out for a few months until things died down. It was getting worse and worse for the fairies in the north. It wasn't the time to be anywhere near Scotland or Ireland, particularly the highlands where the worst of the fighting was taking place. Still, Eric had to hover near London, one of his least favorite cities to date, just so he wouldn't look like a traitor to his race. Just so he was in the vicinity. It was unbelievable.

He knew why she had to go back. He understood her need to convince her family to retreat, to call off the war before more lives were lost. What he didn't know was how long it would take. He'd never been good with their separations, but three years? The indefinite nature of the wait stretched out before him like a road that met the horizon before disappearing into itself. He knew he was brooding, he knew he had a sour attitude. He was aware of all these things. Thankfully, he was beginning to get old enough where these things didn't matter anymore. The longer he lived, the more vampires he met that were younger than him if not by decades then by millennia. They didn't mess with him, no matter how poor his mood or how weak he seemed.

He awoke to the smell of blood. It was sweet and fresh. He arose from the cellar, slipping on a pair of trousers before entering the main section of the tenement. The building was dark, lit only by mounted candles, the wallpaper blackened with soot in little pools above each flame. He could hear the bark of a dog outside, its distant echoing anger. Someone had let the fire die in its hearth, the ashes black, the wood cold and forgotten. The other vampires, too, were beginning to stir, though one was already awake. She went by Mya, and she was the only one in the coven older than him, albeit not by much. He knew she was from Egypt originally and that she preferred brunettes, but she once agreed to make an exception for Eric.

True to form, she crouched over the slowly dribbling neck wound of an English woman, her long, brown hair draped across a pillow.

"Eric," she crooned, "Would you like a taste?"

Eric would've said yes, had he not felt the now familiar lurch in his chest, the pull of the cord, the arrival of Sookie.

"I must go," he murmured, flashing out the door and into the night. He was still shirtless and barefoot, but the London nights were dark and lawless, and he moved so fast it didn't matter. He was a blur to human eyes, just a curious breeze that comes and goes suddenly in a gust. He was able to rise above them, flying over the roofs of homes as Godric patiently taught. Finally, he was beginning to master the sensation. Following her pull was effortless to him now. He could do it with his eyes shut, he would find her by listening to the thrum in his blood alone.

She waited for him on the upstairs floor of an inn manned by a sleepy, older woman. Eric could taste Sookie's scent in the air, the familiar tenor, wheat and honey and sunlight. He glamoured the woman then darted upstairs, following her smell to the room, opening the unlocked door. She crouched by the fireplace, stoking the wood with a metal pole. She glanced up when he entered, her eyes dancing in the glow of the flames. He scooped her up instantly, burying his face in her hair, reminding himself not to hold too tightly, warning himself of the bruises. He inhaled deeply, walking them both to the bed and laying her down on it, hovering over her, his forearms framing her face.

When she was newly back to earth her smell was always more potent, decadent in its lightness. She glowed from within.

"How was it?" he asked quietly, hardly louder than the crackle of the flame.

"Eric, I don't wish to speak of it now," she said, reaching up for him.

"Say my name again," he requested, a hair's breadth from her lips.

"Eric," she sighed, emphasizing the Old Norse pronunciation.

He swallowed the rest of her exhale, pressing his lips to hers with as much caution as he could muster, feeling her tongue reach out and wrap around his. His hands trailed down her sides, feeling her long dress, searching for the strings to unravel her. She clutched him to her, her touch light to him though he knew she was using all her strength. Her hair was brighter than he remembered, it shone, his own personal light source. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself within her and never leave, to show her all the ways he thought of her over the past three years, to write the stories on her skin with his tongue.

She worked at his pants, untying them and pushing down until they caught around his ankles and he ripped clean through them in his haste.

"Mine," she said territorially, dragging her fingernails down his naked chest, gripping him until he bucked, his fangs dropping as he panted. He felt her hands move upward, pressure on his shoulders that meant she wanted him on his back. He flipped but took her with him, tired of searching for the strings and using his strength to tear her dress down the center, the shift underneath it following quickly in its wake. Sookie didn't seem to care, hovering naked above him, his hands gripping her hips, moving upward to her waist, kneading her breasts.

She backed up slightly, balancing herself with her palms on his chest, finding the proper angle, sinking down onto him while his eyes rolled up at the sensation of home. It was only in moments like these where he felt true warmth. Human warmth. Self-sustaining and alive. It caused their connection to burn, a melding of forms physical, mental, and emotional. He reminded himself again to loosen his grip, to not hold her to him too tightly. She leaned down over him until her naked chest pressed against his own, her warmth leaking into him from inside and out. She seemed to understand that he was checking his strength with her; she taunted him by biting down hard on his clavicle, nearly breaking the skin.

"Come," she urged, "Be rough."

He moved then, her instantly on her back beneath him once more, picking up the pace of his thrusts. Her chest grew flushed beneath him, sweat on her brow, her face a mixture of pleasure and pain. He moved his hand to grab onto the headboard of the bed, gripping with abandon, splintering the wood with a crack. He drove into her until she whimpered his name, crying out, her ankles hooked behind his thighs, his fangs piercing the thin skin of her neck on climax.

He listened as her heartbeat slowed, caressing the side of her face with his hand, his fingers threading in her hair as he slowly drank, willing the moment to last longer than it should. Finally, he broke away, licking the two puncture wounds with his tongue to close them but leaving the marks so all would know to whom she belonged. She didn't often let him do that, but judging by her slow, steady breathing he knew she would not protest until the next evening at the earliest.

He stayed with her until dawn, his fingers tracing patterns in her skin, while in his mind listing out all the things he would tell her and all the things he would do to her, in the evening, when he awoke once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i was in high school i wrote twilight fanfic and was obsessed with angst. every chapter was angst. (teenagers, am i right?) now i like my content like a good, fine wine... it's all about balance, baby. hope you enjoyed this one. more drama in the next. as always, i cherish your feedback. stay safe, stay healthy x


	6. Survival and Death

**Scandinavia, 950-952**

"Please. Please. A life for a life, Eric."

Her pleading voice came from somewhere distant, somewhere ethereal. He could hear the words but he couldn't focus on their meaning, so blinded was he by his own lust. Her scent enveloped him fully; it was the only thing that mattered. Even the screaming of the townsfolk behind him, even their blood on the ground, spilt needlessly and with such extreme disregard, was but a mere distraction in comparison to what he beheld in his own two hands. The limp body on the grass, her small form in a ripped linen shift, the weak bones of her wrists, her bare feet. The new sense of sight he was still attuning himself to, how even in the dead of night he was able to see clearly, each detail as bright as if under the midday sun.

She glowed faintly in a way no other human did. Eric could see it, how it grew from within her, though it wasn't a trait Godric ever mentioned about fairies. Eric's new lot in life–or death, as he was only just beginning to accept–had become following Godric, learning from Godric, doing what Godric foretold and nothing more or less. Godric. His maker. Godric told him of the variants in human blood, letting him taste one extreme and then another, the virgin pure tonic versus the elder tainted with drugs or weak with hunger, the young mother who had only just given birth versus the pre-pubescent boy, his stench ripe with fear. But there was one type superior to all else, more important than all else, more coveted than all else: the fairy. They were rare, nearly impossible to catch, inscrutable, dangerous. And now they had one before them, raw and waiting.

Godric clutched Eric's heaving shoulder, Eric's breath coming in and out of his lungs in rapid succession as he expended all the effort inside him not to take the first bite. Godric would never forgive him, not after how long he'd been hunting this fairy in particular. _The one who roams the North_ , he called her, with a worship that bordered on blind faith. The longer and more drawn out the hunt, the more attracted the vampire became to its prey, the more all-consuming the desire to kill. Godric, a name he bestowed upon himself, aligning his personality with the root of its meaning, righteous and strong with the power of the gods. He saw it as his duty to take where it was given, to strike when warranted, to prey on the weak and to barter with the strong. He felt his power bestowed upon him, a cruel gift that must be exercised at all costs.

"You did well, son," Godric crooned, one finger stroking Eric's jaw with affection. He knelt down before the fairy, brushing her hair back gently, tenderly. Eric watched as the fairy trembled, saw her heartbeat echo in the throb of the artery in her neck. The fairy's eyes were closed. Resigned, it seemed, to her fate. But her hands still gave off a strong light, the echoes of her power that had just catapulted Eric across the field in one effortless thrust. He still felt the warmth inside of him, bringing life to places he hadn't felt since his own death, collecting somewhere beneath his ribs and sticking.

Godric continued to tend to his prey while Eric waited beside, his arms knit around his chest in protection and restraint, a defense mechanism Godric was actively trying to break him from. But this was an extenuating circumstance: Eric needed all of the restraint he could manifest. He watched, his mouth practically watering as Godric slowly approached the neck of the fairy, leaning his small, feline head in and taking a laborious inhale, his eyes rolling up when he did so. Eric didn't know what would happen when Godric finally bit. He worried he wouldn't be able to hold himself back, not once the blood was out in the open, flowing unprotected.

He didn't have to wait long to find out.

The fairy's eyes shot open when Godric bit, his fangs ripping into her neck. In the same instant Eric flew backwards, not forwards like he'd anticipated. He was gripped with a pain in his chest so severe that he cried out in anguish, an expression of emotion so pure it was nearly unrecognizable to him. Godric broke away in surprise, feeling his child's tumult through their blood bond. He glanced over his shoulder, hands still locking the fairy in place beneath him. Eric's pain disappeared the moment Godric's fangs left her skin. For a moment, he looked between the two in a confusion that drove quickly into action.

Eric, on pure instinct, launched himself at his maker, his large body hurtling into the smaller, stronger one. Godric's surprise at the revolt threw him off balance. He fell, sliding along the ground due to Eric's speed, tumbling toward the nearby trees. In his peripheral, Eric could see the fairy sit up, her heart rate climbing as she took off at a sprint away from them. Godric pinned Eric to a tree with his forearm at his neck, growling only an inch from his face.

"You dare defy me?" he snapped as Eric struggled to speak, clawing at Godric's arm with his fingers but unable to break the hold. Though breathing was unnecessary, the sensation of being strangled did not lessen after death, Eric found out.

Godric abruptly let go and dropped into a defensive stance, his body once more tracking the fairy. He took off for the chase, darting through the open field and into the opposite forest into which she disappeared. Eric followed. Her scent was easy to track; she was bleeding, leaving traces at every turn. She couldn't have gone far. She did not match vampire speed. Eric broke through densely huddled trees to find Godric standing alone in the middle of a small clearing, the daylight flowers muted and washed out beneath the moon's ephemeral glow.

"She is gone," Godric said slowly, his voice as serious as the dead. Eric sniffed the air. Sure enough, the clear path she had taken stopped abruptly where Godric stood. It was as if she had been lifted by the hands of the gods themselves and carried into the sky. Eric found himself looking upward, examining the stars, imagining she took refuge there behind the brightest northern orb, the one that, when he was alive, he used to navigate by to find his way home.

He was broken from his contemplation by Goric's approach. He was furious, his limbs crackling with energy. Eric, a trained warrior, knew when he was outmatched, but still he crouched, his bare feet digging into the earth, waiting for the attack. His muscles trembled; he was still learning how to harness their power, the right moves to make and when. It was a much more animalistic process than he was trained in as a Viking. It relied heavily on instinct, on aggression balanced with knowing when the opponent was going to go for the jugular. He needed to be one step ahead. That, combined with Godric's automatic age advantage, put Eric in his now familiar role as the conquered.

Godric stalked toward Eric slowly, almost as if he were letting the anticipation build for an invisible audience. His bared fangs glinted in the moonlight, his body still covered in the blood of the townspeople he had killed earlier in the night. And the fairy's blood, of course. Still fresh on his lips, still flowing through his system like a drug. Eric held back, his chest rumbling in a low growl, waiting for Godric to make the first move, to give him a hint on the style of the fight. But Godric didn't strike.

Instead, his face abruptly dropped its anger and became something worse: impossible to read.

He held out his hand toward Eric in a gesture of goodwill. Eric did not trust it.

"We must go to ground. Come." Godric bent his knees and flew skyward, Eric forced to follow through the trees below. Eric was tense; Godric was cruel, but fair. Eric knew he had defied him, yet Godric had not retaliated. He reasoned, then, that it would be worse than a fight. Far, far worse.

They came upon an abandoned hut from a raided village. The scent of humans was long gone, there hadn't been any nearby for years. Godric entered the hut and began to dig, Eric doing the same as he had been trained to do years prior. Still, Eric waited for Godric to speak. To say anything about what had occurred with the fairy. He said nothing, simply entering his fresh grave and covering himself up, dead in time for daylight.

When Eric rose the next night, Godric was waiting for him. Eric's fangs dropped instantly; there was a human nearby and he was bleeding openly. Godric smiled but there was no light in his eyes. He beckoned for Eric to follow him, exiting the hut to find a human, his neck dripping blood from where Godric had clearly already drank. This was their ritual; Godric first, then Eric if the body wasn't fully drained. The blood was still fresh, warm. It was a male, middle-aged, bearded. His heart beat weakly. He was unconscious, slumped to the side. He smelled divine.

Eric moved toward the man, leaning his face into the exposed wound. Before he could bite, Godric stopped him, a hand closing on Eric's neck and pulling him backward into his own chest.

"You denied me," Godric spoke softly into his ear, hardly even a whisper. "And now I shall deny you. You will not bite any breather." He hesitated; Eric could hear him swallow. "As your maker, I command it."

Godric released him, pushing Eric back toward the man. Eric glanced between Godric and the man's bloody neck. Never before had Godric commanded him to do–or not to do–anything. He had always given him a choice. He could feel the change inside of him. Though he still wanted the blood, though he was still desperate for it, he could not imagine dropping fang to bite. Reeling, he approached once more, hovering over the wound, willing himself just a taste. But it was impossible. There was no longer a choice. Eric darted backward, listening to the sound of Godric's quiet laughter at the scene before him.

"I suggest you go back to ground. Conserve your strength. You will need it."

"Godric-" Eric began to protest, a hint of panic in his voice. Godric held up his hand to stop him.

"Eric, vampires can last a long time without blood. We shall see, for you, how long."

Eric should have listened to Godric. He should have gone to ground. Instead, he rebelled against his maker's command, searching for the nearest village, killing humans with his hands and leaving them to bleed, unable to feed from any of their corpses. He did this, night after night, until he felt too weak to continue, finding refuge in his grave, resigning himself to the wait. Eventually, Godric had to let him feed. Eric tried to convince himself of this even though he knew that vampires were not known to forgive.

Godric returned some nights. Other nights, he did not. Time felt permanent. Its constant darkness was a gaping maw before him, an abyss in which he rose, night after night, week after week, an endless cycle of emptiness. He was weak. He could feel it in his muscles, how they lacked response, how they felt withered and shrunken when he moved them. He counted his own breaths, though they were unnecessary, and watched with complete and utter stillness as the worms in the dirt maneuvered and dug. He became one with the ground; a lifeless, stagnant object. No longer a sentient being. From his place beneath the hut, he couldn't even see the stars.

He began to play memories of his human life in his head. His boyhood, growing up in the clutches of war, destined for greatness and determined to fulfill some untold prophecy. Sparring with other children; winning, losing. Breaking his arm after falling off a horse, the healer said it may never right itself but it eventually did. Brandishing his first longsword; the weight of it in his hands, the unmatched power. His time on the sea, first as a child and then as a man, the taste of salt as it splashed onto the wooden boats, how his hair grew stiff when it dried. Being with a woman for the first time, waking up naked beside a roaring fire. The smell of his wife's hair, the birth of his son. Bathing in a hot spring, his daughter's lonesome cry, combing the knots from his horse's mane. Nearly dying on a pile of hay, saved by an angel from the gates of Valhalla. The day he knew he would die in earnest, the prophecy foretold but abruptly shifted, damned to an eternal night.

His eyes were closed when Godric dragged the human body into the hut. Eric lay still in the grave; his skin pale, eyes sunken, muscles weak and twitching. He was covered in dirt; even the insects were unafraid, crawling over his limbs as though he were but stone. Godric grabbed him beneath his shoulders, pulling him into his lap like a child. Eric opened his eyes slightly, the blue lined with red, and stared up into Godric's face. He was smiling.

"I brought you something," he said, smoothing back hair. The blonde was so dirty and matted it looked as brown as the earth itself.

Eric felt the presence of the human, the supple heartbeat, the woosh of blood through the aorta. His fangs did not drop even when Godric rested the human's head on Eric's chest, so close all Eric would need to do is lean down to bite. If he could. It was a young girl, a virgin, exquisite, perhaps she had just come of age. She had the calm, benign face of the glamoured, her blue eyes wide and her hair long and braided. So soothed was she it was as if she was in her own bed cuddled up with her family, waiting patiently for sleep to take her.

"Go ahead," Godric offered, the same small smile still in place. Eric shook his head minutely; each movement felt impossibly difficult. "Drink. I command it." Something unlocked within Eric and he lunged, afraid to miss the opportunity, the fastest movement he'd made in months.

His fangs sunk desperately into her flesh, just above the breast, his arms wrapping around her torso to still her as she gasped and twitched. Distantly, as he drank, he could feel Godric stroking his hair and shoulders, humming quietly.

"Faðir, bróðir, sonr," Godric murmured as Eric finished draining the human, his body already rejuvenated, replenished with the blood of life itself. Eric looked up, hopeful.

"Forgiven?" Eric asked, the blood running down his chin coagulating with the dirt. Feral.

Godric didn't respond, though for a moment he looked intensely sad, like the next words he was to say he would regret more than anything.

"Eric," he said softly. "You will not bite any breather. As your maker, I command it."

Eric's fangs retracted automatically. Just like that, the cold steel bars of the jail locked down once more. He felt hardened and stunned. To be given a hint of life only to have it ripped away in the next moment. To know the taste and then to starve. To understand all he had to lose just as he lost it. Eric sat up, leaving Godric's embrace and returning to the grave, his movements resigned to their inevitability. Godric stood above him, looking down on him as if he were mourning the dead entombed. In many cases, he was.

"There is only survival or death," Godric said, as serious as a sermon. "You must learn this."

"Yes, Godric," Eric replied, but Godric was already gone.

x

"A vampire bite, Sookie," Niall said, cleaning her neck with rosewater, his hand glowing with light to seal the wound. "You are lucky to be alive if you let it get close enough to bite."

"I know, Grandfather," Sookie sighed, focusing on mending the cuts on her legs and feet.

"I do not understand this endless pursuit in the north. I thought you were done with it once your human died in battle."

Sookie swallowed; it certainly wasn't the time to tell her grandfather of her discovery: that her human was now a vampire and, not only that, he was one of the attackers. Best to keep that one close to the chest, she thought.

"I feel at home there," Sookie defended herself, cleaning off the rest of the blood and changing clothes quickly. "And I want to go back. I only returned because it was necessary."

Niall looked wounded by her words, but his hurt came out in the form of aggression.

"Fine, go back. But do not look to us should you find yourself with another bite."

"Fine," Sookie shot back, turning on her heel toward the portal. She was more interested in returning anyway. In finding Eric as a vampire, as dangerous as it may be. She knew something was off the moment he died. She had expected their bond to be broken, to feel the pain associated with the clean break. Niall had expected the same. He had welcomed her back with open arms after the death of Eric, fussing over her only to find she felt none of the agony he had anticipated her to feel. He was faced, instead, with an inconsolable granddaughter, an alternative he had no idea how to deal with.

The bond hadn't broken. Instead, Sookie still felt its power within her, though muted somehow, like it was struggling beneath a heavy burden, trying against all odds to breathe, desperate to break free. The fact that Eric hadn't been killed by that vampire-that he'd been turned into one, instead-explained everything. And he had saved her. A life for a life.

When Sookie walked out into the forest her bond felt stronger. She trusted in it more, leaned into the sensation as a tracking mechanism. It grew more prevalent at night, weaker during the day. It was faint, of course, but it was enough. And that was what mattered. She followed it like a beacon, the rotating orb at the peak of a rocky shore, traversing mountain, river, stream until she came upon a small abandoned village, many of its buildings blackened and falling apart. The Vikings always remembered to pillage before they burned.

The animals grew restless at night. She could hear them in the brush and in the branches of the trees all throughout her travels. But here, near this village, it was quiet. Danger kept even the most harmless creature away, a sixth sense reserved solely for the preservation of life. It was toward this danger that Sookie walked, confident and sure, ready for the risk that accompanied it. The pulsing inside her felt strong here, almost tangible, something far removed than the ghost she usually carried. She pushed open a thatch door, her eyes adjusting slowly to the pitch darkness.

Eric was upon her instantly, pressing her back against the broken wooden walls of the hut, his face hovering over her neck. But he did not bite. He held her for a moment, her breath caught in her throat, desperate to know the next move he would make, somehow unworried for her own fate, confident in the safety he provided. Abruptly, he dropped her and retreated; the last thing she saw was his pale, white hand disappearing into a shallow grave.

She approached slowly, willing her heart to calm and her breathing to normalize. Her eyes were fully adjusted, and with the moonlight leaking in through the open door she was able to properly see him for the first time. He was emaciated and covered with dirt, his hair matted down. There were deep shadows beneath his eyes, purplish like he'd never slept a day in his life. His lips were chapped and nearly white; there was no color to him anywhere, even for a vampire. Besides the layer of filth he was otherwise nude, curled up on his side like a fetus, still as death in his grave.

"Are you ill?" she asked, careful not to get too close. She didn't think vampires could become ill, in all the lore heard of it was never once mentioned. He didn't respond; a frozen corpse.

"I wanted to thank you," she said, determined to talk even without a response. His eyes opened to that, the only alive part of him, the watery surface of crystalline blue. "You saved me."

There was silence for a few long moments, only the sound of the wind in the trees.

"A life for a life," he whispered into the dirt. She hovered, deciding her next move. He was dying, if a dead being could die. Or he was on the brink of something worse, something irrevocable. She dangled her legs over the edge of the grave, dropping down before she could second guess her actions. He flinched minutely, pushing himself away from her.

She sat, her knees drawn up to her chest, facing him. Then she held out her wrist, close enough to bite.

"Here," she offered, "Drink."

He looked at her wrist then her face, his lips pursed together and his jaw tense. He shook his head.

"Why not? It is okay," she coaxed, moving it closer to him.

"Cannot," he said, more forcefully this time. She could hear the root of his voice then, coarse with lack of use but familiar. An echo of the human she once knew. She felt something for him in that moment, an affection, a desire to comfort him through his pain. A taste of the wounded man dying alone on a pile of hay, forgotten and swordless on the battlefield.

She approached him slowly on her knees. He tried to push himself further from her but hit the dirt wall; she raised her palms to him to show him she meant no harm, an absurd gesture when it was he who, even in his weakened state, could snap her neck with a flick of the wrist. She moved behind his head while he tracked her with his eyes, crossing her legs beneath the linen of her dress. She reached out tentatively, her fingers touching down lightly on his matted hair, gripping and pulling gently to see if he would comply. Without his cooperation this entire effort was futile.

He didn't move at first, watching her warily before giving into her, pushing himself up so that his head rested in her lap. She wove her fingers through his hair, caring for him this way, gentling untangling the knots and coaxing out the dirt. She felt him relax into her, one long exhale before he stopped breathing and became impossibly still, his eyes drifting closed until only a crack of the blue was showing. Sookie continued her gentle touch, scratching at his scalp cautiously, her own eyelids dropping while her fingers continued to move.

"You left me," he exhaled suddenly. She froze. Though there was no force to his words it was a clear accusation. "You left me and now I am damned."

"I had to," she defended weakly. "I did not want to."

"You were the angel of death. You spared my life to shepherd me to Valhalla on the battlefield. It was fate." He spoke quickly now though his eyes were still closed and there was no heat in what he said; he was explaining it to her like a teacher lecturing to the apathetic student.

"I am sorry," she said, emphatic, leaning in. "I am powerless."

She remembered Niall's words with a fierce clarity. _We are not gods and goddesses. We do not provide divine intervention._ Humans, when faced with the impossible, will attribute everything to a higher power. She knew this. The unexplainable was safer when deemed unknowable. But the betrayal of a god cut twice as deep.

"I hate you."

Her chest tightened at his words. She willed herself not to cry, instead letting him linger in his hate. Letting him blame her. Letting his situation, his endless hunger and pain, be her fault. Sharing the burden. In a way, he was right. That vampire would not have changed him had Sookie not been there. It was her scent that called to him, not Eric's. Now she was alive and he, a vampire. He would find glory in it, she knew, just as he found glory in life. It was destiny; it was part of who he was, no heartbeat could change that. He would come to see it eventually. She would just need to have patience.

"I am sorry," she said again, quieter this time. She began to comb through his hair once more, brushing his hairline with her nails. He broke his stillness to reach up with one hand, clutching her knee. She couldn't tell if he was pushing her away or holding her in place. His chest rumbled lowly, but it was not a growl, it was an animalistic purr. It was quiet, steady, constant, though it picked up slightly when she found the base of his hairline, her fingers brushing against his neck.

"Godric may return," he said between the purrs, his voice dazed as if half-asleep. "Before dawn bring a human, cloak your scent."

"I will," she promised, keeping an eye on the lightening sky through the open door.

"Thank you Sookie," he exhaled, growing still once more.

**Morocco, 1829**

Sookie spent the day on the beach. She loved the sea, it was one of her favorite things about earth. The cawing of the gulls, the lap of the waves, the soft sand beneath her like laying on a down comforter. The sun was bright and hot, the days long and the nights short. It was well into the evening when the sun began to set, she watched it drop low and hover over the water, cascading into a watercolor of pinks and oranges and reds. Its reflection shimmered and shook on the gentle waves, small pockets of light bouncing on the water causing her vision to spot.

Even on the western shore the water was warm, the beach relatively secluded, protected by overhanging, sharp cliffs. Eric was partial to these types of locations, where cumbersome, modest bathing suits were only a suggestion. She watched as the last of the sun tipped below the horizon, leaving only a distant glow. She was sleepy from the heat of the day, the waves lulling her into a gentle slumber until she was awoken by cold hands trailing down her arms and cradling her face.

"I feel the heat on your skin," Eric whispered. He touched a fingertip to her nose. "Your nose is bright red."

"Burnt," she mumbled as his lips dropped down to hers. "Those are burnt, too," she complained, pushing back on his chest. Besides her lips and nose, the rest of her was a deep golden brown. They'd spent the summer here, away from the wet climate of the German countryside, at Sookie's request. Though the nights were shorter than Eric would've liked he enjoyed his added benefits, too: her warm skin, flushed and tanned, the salty shore that reminded him of home.

He moved his lips to her cheek and ear, his tongue darting out at her jawline, lips wrapping around her chin and down her neck. She could feel the tentative suggestion of his fangs when, somewhere in the distance, a shriek of laughter interrupted their moment. Eric hissed, advancing on two lovebirds canoodling on the other end of the beach.

"Eric leave them be!" she protested, calling after him. Eric ignored her of course. She watched as he continued his advance, stalking toward the two, his hands clawed. He'd never been good with strangers, particularly when they encroached on Sookie and Eric's time together, accidental or otherwise. Sookie sighed as Eric told them off, his expression and his fangs probably causing quite the scene. The couple retreated quickly; they were gone before Eric returned to Sookie once more.

"Come, let's swim," he said boyishly, the menace on his face completely forgotten. She rolled her eyes but obliged, stripping herself of the swimming costume and following him down the moonlit shore. The waves lapped gently; the sea was calm. He dove in, his skin a bright reflection. He caused the water around him to glow. She admired the passive beauty for a long moment before joining him, her feet treading water where he stood comfortably. He wrapped his arms around her back, holding her up and to him, hers reaching around his neck.

He kissed her gently, careful of the burn and the saltwater sting. Her long blonde hair stuck to her chest and back, the salt making it starchy and crinkled with waves. He placed her down in shallower water, leaving her to swim, to dip in and out of the water, just a speck in the distance and then right beside her in an instant. The whole not breathing thing was a real advantage in this scenario. Her skin began to prune and she made to leave, letting Eric have his fun before asking him to join her, knowing he would hear her words even from her distant spot on the beach towel.

He appeared before her, his tall, naked, muscular form backlit by stars, little drops of seawater trailing down every part of him. He was impartial to his own beauty, he thought of it as a burden he could weaponize when he so chose to use it. To Sookie, he was a work of art. Lord knows others thought so, too. Let's just say he had the interest of a few sculptors and painters over the years, though he denied them all, of course. The ability to stay incredibly still probably didn't hurt matters either.

Ignoring the sand, he lay down beside her, nuzzling his face at her breast, licking the salty skin. He wrapped his arm around her middle, a cool reprieve against the burn, resting his head over her heart, the top of his hair tickling her chin.

"Those two people I asked to leave–" Eric began, but Sookie cut him off.

"Asked?" she smirked.

"Those two people I forced to leave," Eric corrected, "They were newlyweds. Married today."

"Okay," Sookie laughed. "Even newlyweds cannot come to the vampire beach."

Eric was silent, his finger drawing small circles on the skin of her hip.

"What's wrong?" she questioned, feeling the uncertainty flowing from him through their bond.

"Should we marry?" he asked quietly. "As humans do."

"Are you proposing?" she smiled.

"We would have to pick a religion," he said uneasily. "And I don't have a wedding band."

"Really thought this one through, have you?"

"All fixable problems," he said, tilting his head up to look at her. "Should you say yes."

She laughed again at his mischievous smile. She knew he was married in his human life but they'd never once discussed the matter afterward. Perhaps she never considered him the marrying type.

"Why not," she shrugged. "But we're not using Catholicism. All that extravagance. It's a bit much."

His smile widened to beam, one she was so rarely blessed with seeing. Usually they were reserved for the day she returned from Faerie or a particularly effective night in bed. He kissed her lips roughly despite the burn, trailing kisses down her body and back up again until his ear rested once more at her heart. She wove her fingers into his hair, her nails scratching gently at the scalp, drifting lower and lower until she found the spot at the base of his hairline near his neck, the one he'd always loved, waiting until she heard his gentle, content purr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my friends! the beginning of this chapter picks up right where the first vignette in chapter 1 let off, perhaps you'd like to go back to remind yourself of those events. also: your reviews were truly incredible these past few days, they gave me so much joy in this weird and scary time! i am now back to work remotely, please forgive me if there is more time between chapters due to that. stay healthy, stay safe x


	7. Good Night and Goodbye

****

**Louisiana, 2008**

The gravel crunched under the tires of Bill's car as he pulled into the back parking area of Merlotte's Bar and Grill. Sookie both heard and saw him arrive through the small window leading out from Sam's office as she grabbed her denim jacket off a hook, weaving her arms through the sleeves hastily. She hadn't expected Bill tonight. She hadn't heard from him in a few nights, actually, and while they'd left each other last on less than stellar terms, Sookie didn't feel any grudge toward him. She had bigger things to worry about. Namely, the tall, blonde vampire still waiting in the booth with a tepid, half-drunk bottle of TruBlood and a scowl on his face.

Sam made her stay later than necessary to gather and load up all the used dishes in the kitchen, partially because they were short-staffed as a busboy called in sick, partially out of spite. Now her hands were raw from the hot water, it was closing in on 12:30AM, she smelled of fried food and grease, she had a vampire in both the front and back of house, and Sam was watching her with judgmental eyes as she searched in her pockets for her car keys.

"You left 'em on my desk," Sam said unhurriedly, letting the keys dangle from his extended index finger.

"Thanks," she replied, snatching them up. She moved to leave the office then hovered at the doorway, unsure which direction to take. Left to the parking lot where Bill awaited her or right to go get Eric from his booth? Neither felt like the correct option, but only one seemed a guaranteed death wish. Asking Eric to wait and then leaving him wasn't actually a viable choice safety-wise. Plus, she didn't _want_ to leave him. That was the most concerning part. She groaned in frustration, turning around instead to face Sam.

"Seems like you've got a bit of a problem." He spoke slyly, glancing out the window where Bill leaned up against his car door awaiting Sookie.

"I take it you're not gonna help me out with this problem any, are you?" Sookie assumed.

"Not a chance, but I will stick around for the show."

"How sweet of you," Sookie snarked, making a snap decision and stomping back to the front of Merlotte's in a huff. Naturally, Eric was the only thing left in the place, though he sat so still he looked less like a sentient being and more like a piece of furniture. He glanced her way when she entered, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

"Bill's in the back," Sookie said. Might as well be out with it and not beat around the bush. Eric's fangs dropped with a snick and he stood. "Oh, put those away. I'm not gonna go with him. I don't even know why he's here."

Eric didn't put his fangs away. He did the opposite, darting through the bar to the back lot so quickly it was like he'd vanished on the spot. Sookie wouldn't have known the direction he'd taken had the creaky door not swung angrily in protest at his abrupt departure.

"Good grief," Sookie exhaled, chasing after Eric and pushing past a smug-faced Sam in the process. So he really was going to stick around for the confrontation, and, based on all of her interactions with Eric in the past, she was pretty sure Sam was in for some fireworks. Instead, she found Bill and Eric murmuring to each other quietly; both of their fangs were out and their faces tense, but Sookie couldn't hear a word they said. They stopped speaking the moment she entered the lot, Bill shifting toward her infinitesimally, trying to create space from Eric.

Surprisingly, Eric stepped back from Bill as well. It was almost like he didn't want her to see his aggression. She approached them hesitantly, crossing her arms over her chest. It was chilly out, the wind growing cold as they closed in on winter. Louisiana didn't really do fall. Summer lingered, holding on with clutching fingers until the cold wind came at night, ushering in a new season dead leaves and fog.

"Sookie, can I have a word?" Bill asked with his slow Southern drawl. Again, Sookie expected Eric to retaliate in some way, to answer for her, to force Bill to leave before they could speak. Instead he just looked at her, his face impassive though his blue eyes flickered.

"Sure," she said, then turned to Eric. "I'll only be a minute. Promise." Eric nodded slightly, his nostrils flaring. In her gut, she knew she would need to reassure him. Some part of her understood he would automatically see her acceptance of Bill's request as a rejection. Based on the way his eyes flashed before settling, she was right. He moved away then to give them some privacy. His actions, in this regard, confused her. He was like a different vampire from the one she'd first met, all of his responses the opposite of what she would have anticipated. She couldn't figure him out.

Sookie and Bill moved off to the side of the lot, cloaked in the shadows behind Sam's camper. His dark hair brushed the tops of his strong, equally dark eyebrows and he wore loose fitting jeans and a button-down. He actually looked quite handsome, and, for a vampire, shockingly repentant if not uncomfortable, like he was unsure of what to say.

"I didn't expect you here tonight," Sookie said to break the silence.

"I wanted to surprise you," he said, glancing toward where Eric last stood. "You surprised me instead."

"He's been here every night, Bill. I don't know why."

"He said you agreed to be with him tonight," Bill said.

"I agreed to _talk_ with him."

"You know he wants you."

"I picked up on that, yeah, but I think there's somethin' more goin' on here."

Bill scoffed, his expression shifting into a condescension.

"He's manipulatin' you, Sookie. He's a vampire."

"I noticed the fangs, thanks," Sookie snapped, taking a step away. "We're just gonna talk is all. I don't owe you an explanation anyway, do I? We went on one date and you yourself said it wasn't even a real date. And if I remember correctly I ended up in a frickin' basement."

"I didn't come to fight with you, Sookie," Bill sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I came to apologize. And to ask if you'd like to accompany me to a movie sometime. A date I would surely classify as such."

Sookie felt a pit in her stomach, a mixture of uncertainty and worry and an overarching sense of wrongness. This time two weeks ago she wouldn't have thought twice about Bill's proposal. In fact, she'd have been thrilled. But ever since Eric entered into her life–as violent as that entrance may have been–she felt different in some deep, profound way. Changed. And it was somewhere inside her, somewhere impossible to reach or understand. It was like a gut response, a change in the way she saw the world, like the blinders she didn't know she was wearing were suddenly removed and she could finally see clearly.

"I don't know, Bill," she replied, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "I'm not sure I'm cut out for all this vampire stuff."

"You've had my blood," Bill said, "I can tell what you're feelin', at least a bit, and you're feelin' torn. Is it Eric?"

"I care about you," Sookie hedged. And it was true, she did. Bill was there for her when no one else was. He helped her. He saved her. Heck, if Eric hadn't shown up she probably would've been head over heels for him by now. "But yes, I think so. Yeah, I think it's Eric."

Bill nodded, scrubbing his toe into the dirt while staring down at it intently in a very human-like gesture. She wondered if it was because he didn't want to meet her eye.

"You're just like all the other fangbangers," he said, his voice immediately cruel, like flipping a switch. "Looking for a more powerful vampire to seduce. I'm sorry I'm not a sheriff, Sookie, I do apologize," he spat.

Sookie's eyes widened in shock. She took a step back from him, the exact wrong move to make in the presence of a vampire slighted. He locked in on her weakness, his fangs dropping in response. His eyes were cold and black as flint; she could no longer see the man behind them, only the predator. He had been hiding this side of himself from her, she realized. This, as vampire, was his true form.

"It's not like that," Sookie said defensively, taking another slow step back.

"Humans are only good for one thing," Bill said, moving again, focus on her neck.

"Bill, please–" she said, her back now pressed up against the thin metal of Sam's camper.

Bill ignored her, continuing his advance until she felt his cool breath wash over her face, an unwelcome shiver running down her spine. Then, before he could get any closer, Bill froze. Eric's hand wrapped tightly around his neck, the tendons in his forearm flexing though she could see no clear exertion on his stoic, serious face.

"That's enough of that," Eric yanked, throwing Bill down into the dirt. He lifted his boot, slowly pressing down on Bill's wrist. There was a sizzling sound followed quickly by the stench of burning flesh, smoke rising from beneath Eric's boot. Bill's skin melted as he cried out in agony. "You are no longer permitted in Area Five on pain of death." Eric lifted his foot, moving his body to stand between Sookie and Bill with a sidestep.

"But my family home," Bill stuttered, nursing his wrist where a bright red footprint was burnt into the flesh. "You approved my application for residency."

"I'll have Pam put it through the paper shredder," Eric smiled. "She'll be pleased. She loves the paper shredder."

"I'll take it to the Queen," Bill threatened, standing but backing away from Eric at the same time.

"Be my guest," Eric replied easily. "I'm a few years older, if you recall."

Incredibly, Sam chose that moment to step out from his hiding place inside Merlotte's, his lean form sauntering out into the lot. Both vampires sniffed the air at his arrival, their eyes narrowing on a common foe. Sam grimaced, reaching his hands before him and cracking his knuckles theatrically.

"Everybody doin' okay out here?" he asked. He was met with silence save for the sound of distant crickets hovering in the long grass. "Sook?" he tried again, looking at her pointedly.

"We're fine," Sookie forced out, her voice a bit breathier than usual. Eric noticed this, his eyes darting over his shoulder to look at her. "Bill was just leavin'."

On cue, Bill slipped into the driver's seat of his car, the door closing with a slam. He sped off so fast they were left in a cloud of dust, the dry dirt floating upward as he drove around the bend and out of sight. Once he was gone Eric turned, leaning down to search Sookie's face. It was clinical; he was examining her for signs of shock. He must've come to some type of conclusion for he held his hand out, palm up.

"Give me your keys," he ordered.

"I can drive," Sookie protested, clutching the keys in her trembling hand. He glanced at them, listening to the gentle rattle.

"Sookie," he said slowly, his hand still outstretched.

"Fine." She rolled her eyes, storming past him to her car and sitting in the passenger's seat. Watching Eric try to contort himself to fit into the driver's side was actually comical. He pushed the seat back as far as it could go but his knees still bunched uncomfortably beneath the steering wheel. He wove his arms around as best he could, his elbow at an awkward angle to reach the gearshift. She hid her smile behind her hand but she couldn't hide her small laugh; his hearing was too keen.

"This is a bad car," he grumbled, the engine moaning as he attempted to speed up down the dirt road.

"We can't all teleport where we want to go," she said dryly. He looked at her with confusion for a moment, then he understood.

"I didn't teleport. I flew. I would've taken you home that way but it's too cold out. You're shivering." He said all of this very casually like he was talking about golf scores or giving an update on traffic in the morning. "Instead I am stuck in this excuse for a vehicle."

"You flew," she repeated in disbelief, ignoring the second dig at her car. "You can fly?"

He smiled genuinely, a flash of his teeth, bright with reflection from the headlights.

"Are you impressed?" he waggled both eyebrows at her suggestively.

"Unfortunately," she replied, watching as he turned down the darkened path to her home. "I suppose I shouldn't bother askin' how you know where I live." Eric just shrugged noncommittally, pulling to a stop in front of her garden. She unbuckled her seatbelt and he zipped around opening her door for her. "So chivalry really _is_ dead," Sookie intoned. She knew she was using sarcasm as a diversion. She was trying to overcompensate for the shocking reversal of personality Bill showed back at Merlotte's. It left her rattled, how easily she'd trusted the fiction.

"Ha ha," he said in monotone, walking with her to the porch. He seemed to sense her hesitancy toward inviting him inside, taking a hard right before the front door and settling himself down on the hanging porch swing. He patted the seat so she would join him. They sat silently for a few long moments, the swing slowly rocking back and forth beneath them.

"So what's under your shoe?" Sookie asked, weaving her hands together tightly to keep them from trembling. "What burnt Bill like that?"

"Silver-plated sole," Eric answered simply. "It's an old trick."

"How old?"

"Around a hundred years, I'd say. I first saw it used during the Great War."

"World War I?"

"Yes."

"And you're older than that?"

"Yes."

"How much older?"

"A bit." He glanced at her then, shifting slightly, the swing's chain rattling in response.

"I'm asking too many questions, aren't I?" Sookie grimaced, realizing then that she was speaking rather quickly, her voice an octave higher than normal. In comparison to Eric's resounding cool it was all the more striking. As if to emphasize this, he relaxed further into the swing, draping his long arms over the back and appraising her with his shockingly blue eyes.

"How long have you been here, Sookie?" he asked, turning the interview onto her.

"Been where?"

"Louisiana. Bon Temps."

"My whole life of course," she answered with an easy smile. She was beginning to calm again, trying to put Bill out of her mind. Eric was looking at her quizzically, though, like she'd just told him the Earth was flat (though there were a fair few people in Bon Temps who thought that one was fact).

"With your parents?" he asked after a long pause.

"Well, they died when I was real young. I live with my gran now and my brother Jason, but he moved out a few years back. Can I ask you a question now?" She could see Eric had a string of things he wanted answered but he held back, waving his arm in a gesture of 'go ahead.' "Why did you cut your hair?"

He looked surprised for a moment before his mouth formed a small smirk.

"To see if you would notice," he said, running a large hand through the now much shorter locks. "Pam's idea, actually."

"I liked it long," she couldn't help but grumble under her breath. He let out a loud, surprising laugh at that. It transformed everything about him, a window beneath the stony veneer. She watched in awe.

"I know," he smiled. "I know."

She reached for his hair on instinct, her arm freezing still on its approach when she realized what it was she was doing. He stopped moving as well, suddenly a statue on the swing, his eyes tracking the movement of her hand and nothing more. She wasn't even sure if he was breathing. He nodded his head at her minutely, the encouragement she needed to touch the ends of his hair, the blonde curling around his pale ear. She studied him, her mouth parted slightly, her breath steaming in warm puffs before her. His eyelids drifted slowly closed when the tips of her fingernails brushed hesitantly against his scalp; it wasn't long before he was leaning into her touch, nuzzling like a stray cat too long separated from human affection.

He succumbed to her so totally, so completely, without even a hint of inhibition. It made no sense. She swallowed, pulling back, not liking the power when she had no clear reason to wield it. His eyes flashed open at her departure, catching her wrist with vampire speed and pressing it to the cold skin of his cheek, inhaling deeply.

"Eric," she said slowly, trying to pull back. She was locked in his grip. It wasn't painful but, at the same time, he wasn't letting her go. He rubbed his face back and forth against her forearm, pushing up her denim jacket, his lips ghosting over her pulse point.

"It's been a very long time," he murmured, his cool breath reminding her of Bill's. She pulled harder, trying with real effort to extricate her arm.

"Eric," she protested louder, her heart rate climbing. Though his touch was gentle, his blue eyes were clouded and his body language feral. Unpredictable. At the end of the day he was still a vampire and a vampire was to be feared above all else. She'd learned that very important lesson more than once over the past few weeks.

"Let me go." Her voice was low and cutting, breaking him from whatever trance he was in. She hadn't even realized his fangs had dropped until she saw his grimace as he retracted them. He released her wrist slowly and she pulled it back, cradling it against her chest. His face flickered with an emotion–hurt, perhaps–but it was so quick she nearly missed it before it evened out into his familiar unreadable gaze.

"I should get to bed," she said quietly. "It's late."

He nodded, standing and holding out his hand to her. She hesitated a moment before taking it and Eric's eyes moved away, not meeting hers. He opened the screen door for her and she knew he couldn't go farther. Still, he waited for her to step inside through the threshold, the warm light of the kitchen glowing behind her. She stood there, separated by the invisible barrier, looking out at him and into the darkness beyond. His left hand gripped the screen door, his form filling the entryway in what should have been an intimidating posture. Instead, she could see there was little fight left in him. No matter how impassive his expression seemed, to her he simply looked tired.

He began to shut the door but she stopped him, calling his name.

"Eric?"

He turned quickly, glancing back up at her.

"Thank you. For your help with Bill tonight," she said shyly, still at her spot inside the threshold. "He was really different than I thought he was."

Eric looked at her for a moment, then spoke very earnestly.

"I would never harm you," he said. She had no reason to believe him, not with all she'd seen from both him and other vampires. But she did. She believed him entirely.

"I know."

It was small and hard to see, but he did smile.

"Goodnight, Sookie," he said softly before shooting straight up, a bullet into the night.

**Virginia, 1703**

"I could go with you," Eric offered again, standing near the wooden door as Sookie gathered the last of the things she'd need for the trip. She placed her good work shoes in the rucksack, tying the knot at the top twice before standing up and wiping her forehead.

"You know you can't," she replied. They'd had this conversation a thousand times in the last week. Sookie was convinced it was too dangerous for Eric to accompany her back to the north. Eric was convinced otherwise.

"It's been years," he protested, grabbing her bag for her as they stepped outside into the night, the stars bright as lanterns above them. "They can't still be looking for me."

"It's been _human_ years," Sookie sighed, her feet sinking into the mud as they walked away from the home they'd built together. "I don't want to have this argument with you again. Not tonight."

The New World had been good to them. It was an escape from the endlessly-growing and uppity vampire societies in Europe and it kept them both off the radar. It wasn't uncommon for a vampire to grow attached to a human for an extended period of time, but it was uncommon for that human to smell as good as Sookie did. It was also uncommon for that human to not age in the slightest. Even the humans were beginning to notice.

In Virginia, as long as they paid their taxes once a month to the colonies, no one paid them any mind. They were able to stay far away, out on their own plot of land, Eric doing the majority of the work at night with Sookie enlisting a few tight-lipped colonizers to help with the day shift. Most were more than happy to do it as Eric actually paid his help, unlike most of the landowners who relied entirely on indentured servants. Though Eric knew well enough that he was paying more for their discretion than for their manual labor. Still, he had been happy to settle down in one place with Sookie. They had been nomadic for far too long; he knew it was taking its toll on her in particular.

The downside of being so far away from the north was the time it took Sookie to return to her homeland. She'd been gone for far too long, she'd 'overstayed her welcome' as she often put it. It was time to return, to check in, to supply the required assurances. She knew it and Eric knew it. But that didn't mean he needed to like it. That didn't mean he wasn't going to at least try.

"We could part in England instead," Eric reasoned.

"Oh, so you enjoyed staying in the cargo hold with no food for weeks last time? I seem to remember you had a fair few complaints," Sookie smiled. Eric glared at her. He wasn't in the mood. "Come, let's just get it over with."

Eric scooped her up, her rucksack balanced precariously over his shoulder. He felt the familiar tension in his legs to spring, the coil ready to release. He flew effortlessly now, Sookie clutching his neck though she needn't be. He could carry her easily but he wasn't about to tell her she could loosen her hold. The stars were particularly bright as they made their way to port. There was no moon to speak of. None would catch them whipping overhead, not even with a searching gaze. A few hours later, they dropped down behind the wooden slats of a shipyard building. Eric could already smell the sun even though the sky hadn't yet begun to lighten.

The salty wind blew through Sookie's hair even as she tried to tame it from the flight, gathering the locks between her fists. There was a good amount of hustle and bustle in the distance: passengers arriving to set sail, shipmen loosening knots and drawing up anchors attached to thick, heavy chains. English accents were the most common here, thick, lower-class, nearly impossible to understand. Eric and Sookie walked together to the docks, her hands wrapped around his arm. These transatlantic voyages weren't easy; it wasn't uncommon to hear of infested boats, terrible storms, unpredictable death. Sookie was tough, Eric knew, particularly being only partially human, but still. He began to think again about the cargo hold.

Reading his thoughts, as always, Sookie turned and buried herself in his arms.

"I'll be fine," she said, looking up at him, her chin resting on his chest. "You know I will."

"I know," he admitted, albeit begrudgingly. He curled her wild hair behind her ears, leaving his hands there to cradle her face and chin. They stood still for a while, humans rushing past, always hurrying, always ready for the next thing in their short lives. Eric and Sookie were learned masters in the art of patience, of waiting, of prolonging the moment until its last possible second. "I will stay nearby if the ship doesn't embark for any reason."

She nodded, leaning forward to kiss his chest through his linen shirt.

"I love you," she said, reaching up on her toes to kiss his lips as the sky around them transformed from pitch darkness to deep blue, the stars no longer visible.

"And I, you," Eric replied. Between their bodies, Eric clutched both her hands beneath his two larger ones. From within them he could feel the growing warmth, little beams of light leaking through the cracks between his fingers like he held the sun itself. The electricity spread, traveling up his arms and into his chest, raising his internal temperature like baking in the midday heat. Like he was still alive. The light dimmed and he released her hands, pressing his palm against her chest, feeling the steady beat of her heart.

"Go, it's nearly day," Sookie prompted, stepping back from him. The sky was a lighter blue now, dawn a nearing threat. He saw one last smile before he shot away, pursuing the outer reaches of the settlement, hastily digging a shallow grave and burying himself there until sunset. He wished for the ship to still be there the next night, as often these things were delayed for one reason or another. Instead, he found an empty harbor. His solo retreat to their homestead was much faster without Sookie. He felt the thrum of their connection, still strong, and imagined her out at sea, watching the whitecaps of the waves, enjoying the endless sunrise on the horizon.

It was two months before Eric felt their connection lessen significantly. He knew what that meant–that she was no longer in the human world and he could no longer locate her–but it didn't make the sensation any less uncomfortable or disconcerting. He spent the night walking through the wheat fields of their property, parting the long stalks, his hair and clothes covered in furry remnants by morning. He found that it made him feel better, traversing the length of the property at the speed of a human, learning the land instead of pacing like an animal in its cage.

He smelled the strong, pungent scent of a nearby human the night of a full moon. It was so bright out that the wheat looked bleached, the wind rolling through the fields in gentle undulations. She sat at the edge of the field, a distant corner that marked the line between his land and the barracks that housed the human daytime workers.

"Sir?" she said as he approached. She stood like she had been waiting for him. She wore simple work clothes, necessary and well-managed. Her hair was blonde as the wheat and her eyes shone in the moonlight, her cheeks rosy with blood. "Is Miss Sookie gone, Sir?" she asked when he got closer.

"For now," he answered shortly, giving her a wide berth to move past.

"Sir, wait!" she called once his back was to her. "I have something for you from her. She told for me to wait until she was gone to give it."

That gave Eric pause and he turned back toward the young girl with a curious expression. He led her back to their home, listening as she stumbled over stray twigs and sunken holes in the darkness behind him. He slowed his pace slightly to alleviate her struggles, opening the door to the house and settling her at the kitchen table. He rooted around for wherever Sookie kept the candles–he didn't often need them himself–striking a match to light one. A glow warmed the small enclosure. It was barren without Sookie, the wood foundation and furniture melding into a sea of brown, their functional, though currently unused bed in the corner lined with a pile of blankets.

The girl was staring at Eric, watching his every move with blatant curiosity. A wolf howled outside and she seemed to remember why she was there, untying a small satchel at her belt and placing it on the table. Eric sat tentatively across from her, his eyes on the bag as she reached inside and pulled out a small, wooden figurine. It looked hand-carved, though it was smooth and deftly made. It was a sun, its wavy rays growing out from a circular center at alternating lengths, little beams of wooden light.

She pushed it over to Eric, sliding it across the table like an illicit dealing. He lifted it carefully; it was small enough to rest entirely in the palm of his hand. Flipping it over, he revealed the E+S engraved into the back, choppy but clear.

"I taught Miss Sookie to use the skinning knife and how to take it to the wood like my daddy taught me," she said proudly. "She always wanted to know and she wanted it to be a surprise, so I kept it very secret."

Eric was still examining the sun, running his fingertip around the center, digging into the engraving, brushing over the pointed ends of the rays.

"What is your name?" he asked without looking up. Sookie only told him that she'd worked sometimes with the other humans during the day, he'd never cared much to ask for the details. He realized he had a connection to Sookie he otherwise wouldn't have sitting right there at his kitchen table.

"Anne," she replied.

"Are you from England, Anne?" he asked, hearing her coarse accent.

"I was born here but my daddy is from England, he came on a ship. He lived in London, have you been to London, Sir?"

"I have," he said without elaborating.

She was quiet for a moment but, suspiciously, her heart rate began to increase and she sucked an increasing amount of air into her lungs. He looked up from his study of the figurine to gauge her expression. She was staring at him once more, her lips trembling.

"I know what you are," she finally burst out.

He raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"A vampire," she whispered it like some great secret.

"How do you figure?" he asked, placing the figurine into the pocket of his trousers. Folklore was rampant in these rural, isolated communities, but most stories were borne from truth. Given that vampires, at least as far as he'd seen, were pretty few and far between in the New World, he was curious.

"My daddy told me in London he met one once. Only came out at night and he was real pale and the like. And my daddy said he got bit too."

 _London. That made more sense._ Eric relaxed a bit into his chair.

"But your father lived to tell the tale?" Eric asked, knitting his fingers together appraisingly. "I thought vampires killed humans after drinking their blood."

"It was a nice vampire I think," Anne replied confidently.

"A nice vampire," Eric repeated with a small smile.

"Like you," Anne said, "Miss Sookie said you were nice too, you just didn't like the day, but I knew better. Can I see your fangs?"

Eric dropped them instantly, never breaking his smile. She froze. He was used to that reaction; humans were tough until confronted with reality. That there were forces beyond their control. That the legends were true. That they were living unknowingly amongst constant danger. That they were trapped. Eric tilted his head to the side, examining his willing prey in a new light. She was pretty enough, she smelled decently, something floral with a hint of sawdust. Her hair reminded him of Sookie's, golden and wild. He leaned forward, draping his body across the table, meeting her where she'd stilled.

"You would like to feed me, Anne," he murmured seductively, widening his pupils until they enveloped her full attention. Absently, she nodded.

"You would like to join me in bed, Anne." Absently, she nodded.

"You will not remember any of this in the morning, Anne." Absently, she nodded.

"Oh, and thank you for my gift, Anne."

Absently, she nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my friends! i want to thank y'all again for your thoughtful reviews both on FFN and AO3, they get better each chapter. i like all of my protagonists flawed and my antagonists vulnerable. perfection is so boring, right? anyway stream future nostalgia by dua lipa. stay healthy, stay safe x


	8. Pleasure and Pain

**Paris, 1475**

Eric huddled in Godric's coffin even though it was well past sunset. He was awake, laying on his back and staring up at the wood above him. The box was light tight, it had to be, but he could still feel the surface of the coffin two inches above his nose. This was comforting during the daytime when he was dead to the world but it was claustrophobic at night, when all his senses and faculties amplified ten fold and his only desire was to hunt. He licked his teeth; they were dry from lack of blood. He'd suffered worse in the past–far, far longer periods of drought–but it was still uncomfortable, the stagnant taste, the wearied muscles, the way his joints began to ache.

He'd most recently fed from Sookie, but he required more sustenance than she could provide. Her own blood simply did not replenish fast enough to sate his needs. But it was a necessity, and it was a necessity he'd gladly take over the alternative: no blood at all. He shuffled in the coffin, hearing distant footsteps outside of the flat, two pairs of shoes walking down the hall and approaching the front door. He stilled to lifelessness; they were too far away for him to catch a scent. There was the jangle of metal key jilting inside a lock, then the creak of a door on rusty hinges as it slowly arced open. He inhaled very softly, relaxing when he recognized Sookie first, testing their bond, followed by another foreign taste. Still, he did not move, not until her signal.

Her knuckles rapped sharply three times on the surface of the coffin. All was well. In response, he slowly pushed open the lid from the inside, revealing himself to the two women in the room. Sookie looked at him without clear expression. She was tired, dark circles under her eyes, her hair damp from rain and too long, the ends split. She hung up her shawl on the hook in the corner of the room; it dripped water in a consistent patter on the floor beneath them. The other woman was older, perhaps in her mid-40s. She had dark brown hair that was turning gray at the roots and her hands were worn and calloused from hard labor. She smelled of herbs and hot water, her ruddy cheeks flushed and her gaze locked on Eric in fear. He could practically taste it.

"We need to leave Paris," Sookie said abruptly, speaking in Swedish so the other woman could not understand. Her gaze turned to Sookie's in surprise; gone was the pleasant, friendly French girl she'd met on the street. Eric saw the distinct realization on her face: Sookie had lured her into a trap, a trap she would not survive. Eric ignored this; it was of no importance. She would die, but not until Eric could tend to Sookie.

"Do they know I am here?" Eric asked, stepping out of the coffin and towards Sookie. She moved away from his touch so he let his arms drop, clenching his fists at his sides.

"No. But they are working through all of Godric's known properties. It's only a matter of time. Paris is high on the list." She spoke matter-of-factly, settling herself down on an armchair beneath Godric's extensive library. There were priceless books in this flat, some hundreds of years old. Many originals, only copies. Hand-written. Painted by monks, calligraphy by priests in exile. Their bindings bleached by sunlight, pages stained by greasy fingertips, weak enough to crumble beneath a strong gust of wind. He wondered what would happen to the collection when they left. When, inevitably, a poor French family found refuge in the empty space. Would they burn them for warmth? Would they spare the priceless pages? Would they even know the difference?

He sighed, drawn toward Sookie again, as always. There was something undeniable about his desire to close the space between them. It got harder when they were in the same room, more difficult to ignore the need. He reached down and lifted her easily, settling himself beneath her on the old, woven chair, wrapping his arms around the small of her back until she relented, her head resting against his shoulder, forehead pressed to the side of his neck. He stroked her back gently, up and down, knowing there was nothing he could say to make it better. His failure to ensure her wellbeing, to instead be the cause of its destruction, plagued him deeper than she would ever know.

From across the room, the human stared at them, edging her way to the front door, putting as much distance between them as possible. Eric met her eye, dropping his fangs silently, warning her with his expression not to move. She did so, trembling, waiting, listening. The rain fell steadily, rivulets running down the bay window that looked out onto the street, the moon shining through, casting a warbling pattern on the walls and floor. Eric always admired this flat, the way Godric took care of it was very human, very un-vampire. It was warm, cozy, well-kept. He was mindful of the space, he didn't treat it as another pitstop on the endless road as most vampires did to their temporary homes. Uninhabited, it had fallen into a state of mild decay, but the roots were still there. The books, the furniture, the art. Hundreds of years of history, sequestered away to rot.

Sookie's breathing evened out, timed with the slow strokes of Eric's hand on her back. He waited until he was sure before moving, shifting beneath her until she was alone on the chair, grabbing her now-dry shawl off the hook and draping it over her curled up body, her eyelids fluttering in her sleep.

Eric then turned his attention to the woman, listening as her heart thumped in her chest, her fingernails scraping against the wall behind her as she searched for the door, desperate for an escape. Eric put his finger to his lips with a shushing sound but still the woman inhaled to scream. That simply would not do. He darted toward her, his hand pressing against her mouth to muffle the cry.

"Silence, chérie," he whispered, sinking his teeth into her neck and drinking until she could scream no more.

**New York City, 1945**

"Your progeny," Sookie repeated slowly, glancing between the two vampires with her eyebrows practically in her hairline. And then she laughed. A lot. Pam looked miffed; she crossed her arms over her chest and dragged her eyes to Eric like Sookie was the disobedient student in the classroom. Eric just shrugged, sauntering over to Sookie and sitting beside her, stretching out his long legs in front of him, placing one arm over her shoulders. The fire roared and the rain fell against the large windows, the deep velvet curtains draping down to the wood floor, enveloping them all like a warm hug.

Sookie was still chuckling in disbelief, Pam standing before them in her elegant dress with her mouth slightly ajar, glaring daggers at her Maker at the same time. Sookie turned toward him abruptly as well, shifting in her seat.

"What happened to 'I could never be a Maker, Sookie!'? 'It's too much responsibility, Sookie!' 'You don't understand what it would mean, Sookie!'" she asked, her voice high in pitch, pushing against his immovable chest angrily. His long overcoat she wore fell open in the process, revealing her ripped dress and bare chest. His eyes dropped from her face to her breasts hungrily. She closed the coat again in a huff, holding it together. "And when did this happen anyway?"

Eric didn't answer but she felt his uneasiness through their bond. He didn't want to say.

"1905," Pam responded, the first time she'd spoken. She sounded a bit haughty but also a bit out of her depth at the same time. Sookie imagined she wasn't used to seeing her Maker nervous.

"Thank you, Pamela," Eric sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Forty years ago?" Sookie nearly shrieked. "Son of a bitch."

"You let her speak to you this way?" Pam interrupted, her heels clacking as she moved to stand closer to them, her tall, thin body in silhouette in front of the fire. Her fangs dropped, preparing to defend Eric with violence. Sookie rolled her eyes in Pam's direction and the vampire lunged forward with a keening growl. Sookie turned to her fully and let loose a stream of energy readily available to her due to anger, blasting Pam across the room. She landed in the coals of the fire, ashes singing her expensive dress, burning holes in the fabric as Pam tamped them out with her hands hastily.

"Don't cross me," Sookie warned. Eric's fangs had dropped as well, watching the exchange with intrigue and lust. But he didn't move. That turned out to be the smart decision considering Sookie's face when she turned it back towards him. She was livid.

"She was too young," Eric explained, trying to talk his way out of this. "She couldn't control herself, especially not around someone who smells as delicious as you. I was trying to be safe." He leaned forward, unleashing his eyes on her. Her blood still tinged his fangs; she could see the bright red in the cracks where his teeth met. He was trying to seduce her, she realized. He was using his beauty to get her to forget her anger.

"Did you fuck her?" Sookie asked bluntly. He halted his advance. _Guilt._ She felt guilt. She stood up abruptly. Unbelievable.

"Only the once," he admitted. "I'd had her blood."

They were silent, Eric seated on the couch, Sookie standing, Pam hovering by the fireplace expectantly. From off to the side, the human laying on the ottoman moaned lowly. He was waking up, the blood now dry on his neck. Sookie could hear the disoriented stream of consciousness that were his thoughts, could see the scene before him play out in his mind as he took it in. He saw three dangerous strangers, but it was only Sookie herself who looked ready to kill.

"I should go," Sookie announced, buttoning up the heavy coat as best as she could. There was a rush of panic through their bond as Eric stood.

"Wait, you just got back. Don't go," he said, standing between her and the door. "It's pouring out. Stay here. Stay with me."

"Do you wish you could glamour me right now?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered abruptly, not hiding his desire in the slightest.

She tried to step around him but he matched her stride, gripping her arms too tightly.

"Eric," she sighed. He deliberately loosened his hands.

"Please," he implored.

She looked up at him sadly, twinging their bond with disappointment.

"I'll leave," he said after a long moment. "You stay."

He turned then, walking out into the night without a coat or hat, the door closing behind him with surprising delicacy. Sookie stood still for a moment, staring at the closed door before realizing she'd been left with a bleeding human and the vampire she'd just blasted into a fire. They stared at her, their faces carefully blank though for very different reasons. Sookie examined the two of them; they were a story of opposites.

Pam, though singed by the ashes, was still impeccably made-up. She was beautiful. It was stunning, really, and though Sookie had seen many beautiful women in her life she still had to talk herself down from being intimidated by the vampire before her. Tall, all legs, striking features. The whole package. Sookie understood, which made it worse. She left Eric over and over and over and he'd found refuge in a glamorous, gorgeous woman. What more was there to the story than that?

The human looked nervous, his ginger hair nearly the same color as the fire, his clothes torn slightly but not otherwise mistreated. He didn't look like he feared death; maybe he needn't. He thought that staying quiet would insure his safety. A sound strategy, all in.

"He yours?" Sookie asked, gesturing to the human as she sunk back down into the sofa once more. She found herself incredibly cold suddenly, seeking the warmth of the fire.

"Just for tonight. Eric wanted me to feed before you arrived," Pam replied, surprisingly civil. Perhaps Sookie had scared her with the blast, perhaps Pam realized that their introduction had gone terribly and it wasn't worth another fight, not without Eric there. Perhaps both. "I can smell your blood from the bite on your leg. He did not lie about the scent."

Her eyes blackened slightly but Sookie was not worried. There was no situation in which Eric's progeny would harm her, of that she was certain. She would have to do something improbably evil to warrant a bite without retaliation.

"Sorry about your dress," Sookie said quietly. "I didn't aim."

"Your power is… impressive," Pam said begrudgingly. "We are both having wardrobe issues tonight, it seems."

Pam disappeared at vampire speed for a moment, returning with two nightgowns and handing one to Sookie. While Pam glamoured the human, Sookie changed her clothes in the bedroom. There was no bed, only two coffins where the bed should've been. Sookie noticed that mercifully they were two separate coffins, one beside the other. She dropped her ruined dress on the floor, the red satin pooling like a bleeding wound. She was surprised to find Pam waiting for her when she walked back out into the main area, the human gone. She was curled up on the couch, her legs beneath her, combing out her long, luxurious hair with a brush with an ornately gilded handle.

Sookie sat beside her, as close to the warmth of the fire as possible. There was a throw blanket draped over the top of the sofa. She grabbed it and wrapped it around her shoulders, gathering it in close.

"He started the fire as well," Pam said quietly, "In case you would be cold."

Sookie looked over at her with a level gaze, raising one eyebrow.

"It really was only the one time," Pam spoke again, continuing to brush her hair as if the conversation were inconsequential. "And he wouldn't even look at me. Not great for the ol' self-esteem, to be honest."

Sookie grinned darkly.

"I can't imagine you have much trouble in the self-esteem department," she said.

"You're right, I don't," Pam smiled. Sookie laughed then. Vampires were known for their conceit but something about Pam's was endearing in its blatant expression. She got the feeling it wasn't just vampire-Pam that loved herself, it was leftover from human-Pam's own tendencies.

Sookie leaned her head back against the couch, her hands and feet tingling as warmth returned to her extremities. She felt very tired and sluggish, the last day and night never-ending.

"It's strange," Pam said, her voice barely louder than the crackle and spit of the flames. "I know so much of you, yet you know nothing of me. I thought perhaps he had at least mentioned my name before tonight but based on your reaction he clearly never did. I don't know what I expected. He disappears from me when you come back, time passes, then he returns to me. Each return is worse, Sookie. Each time he is more ruthless, more apathetic, more cruel. He is lost. And then I begin to get him back very slowly. He normalizes, begins to smile more. I used to think he was healing, forgetting you, moving on. I was wrong. It was because he knew you were closer to returning to him. And there I am, by his side, a companion turned vampire in a moment of his desperate loneliness, accomplishing nothing, hardly even a placeholder for what he truly needs. Do you know how that feels, Sookie? Do you even care?"

Sookie was mute, her voice trapped inside her chest, locked with the key thrown away. It was hard to leave Eric, every time it was nearly impossible. But her minutes were his days. Her hours, his years. She did not suffer through time.

"What do you want from me?" Sookie asked, finally, her voice raw.

"I want you to leave," Pam replied simply. "Or I want you to stay."

"You don't know what you're asking," Sookie said.

"You're right," Pam said. "I don't. But I know it's worth it."

Pam placed her hairbrush down on the coffee table, even her nightdress managing to look like an elegant gown when she stood before the dying light of the flames.

"Goodnight, Sookie," Pam said gently, "Sweet dreams."

She seemed to float into the adjoining room. Sookie was left alone, staring at the fire as the wood rumbled and broke. She missed Eric then, desperately, crying out across their bond to him and hoping for a response. There was a pulse back without hesitation. He entered the flat a few minutes later, his hair and clothes drenched in water, plastered to his skin. He was so handsome; it almost hurt to look at him. He rushed to her, his wet fingers stroking down the side of her face.

"Forgive me," he whispered against her lips. When she kissed him he tasted of rain.

She stripped him of his clothes slowly, balancing out his cold, damp skin with her warmth, wrapping the knit blanket around his shoulders though he didn't need the added layer. She let her hands glow slightly–only a tremor, only a taste–placing her palms flat against his chest, warming his skin from the center outwards. She felt the rumbling beneath his bones as he purred, leaning into her, dropping his lips to her neck and brushing over the skin there, his tongue running along her clavicle, her jawline, dipping into her mouth and out.

He looked dazed, his expression heady as he clutched her to him, working her out of Pam's nightgown before he had the chance to destroy it. She ran the pads of her fingertips down his chest in the way he liked, until she saw him shiver, gripping him and letting the warmth in her hand pulse. He moaned, his fangs dropping, his brow furrowed. He clutched her hips, lifting her up and lowering her onto him until she choked out a gasp, nearly forgetting how full she felt upon him, how complete. He didn't move at first, gathering her hair in his fist and tugging until she made eye contact with him, until she saw the feral possession there, his fangs glinting in the low light.

"Forgive me," she cried, throwing his own words back at him. He looked confused, searching their bond for reason but finding only apology and regret.

"There is nothing to forgive, wife," he exhaled, grabbing her left hand and kissing her bare ring finger, clutching it tightly to his chest as he thrust up into her over and over and over until she saw nothing but him before her, his pleasure and his pain.

**Portland, 1977**

The sky was overcast, which was the usual for Portland in September. She'd wanted to go to a different state; she'd begged Eric for the South, Louisiana or Texas or the like. She wanted to go somewhere warm, somewhere the humidity felt like you were drinking instead of breathing, where the humans were overly-friendly and swamps were alive with noise and life both day and night. Instead, due to the newly-powerful vampire power structure in the Americas, they'd landed in Oregon.

She understood why. It was hard for Eric to settle where the majority of the vampires were younger and less powerful than him by hundreds of years. They viewed it as a threat to their territory, even if he was wholly uninterested in the bureaucratic nature of vampire politics himself. They simply didn't believe he wouldn't try to take over the throne, so they barred him from settling. Realistically, he could just do it and seek repercussions, but that wasn't worth the hassle. For hundreds of years, all they'd desired was to live unnoticed and unbothered. Portland gave them that thanks to Pam's friendly connections with the Sheriff of the Area and her applicable business acumen. And now Sookie had to end it. She had no other choice.

She'd been up for over 24 hours. It was late afternoon, nearing dinner time. She liked Portland more than she'd expected, especially in the early evenings when the 9 to 5 workers went home and the nightlife began to crawl out from beneath their daytime shells. Portland was surprisingly notorious for its alternative lifestyle, particularly in its clubs and prostitution scene. It was the city with the most per capita strip clubs in all of America, and, in 1977 business was booming. Sookie watched as girls of all ages made their way into the clubs, walking in little groups, their arms hooked together, bell-bottom jeans, corduroy, hair in waves.

She herself could've easily slipped into one of the cliques, wandered into a club, spent the night in another life. She wanted to. Desperately, she wanted the escape of another life. She was about to do the one thing she never dreamed she could do, never thought she would have to do.

She was going to leave. For good.

The river lapped at the docks before her, Sookie's arms draped over the railings as she looked out on the muddy river. She heard the thoughts of humans behind her, some homeless, some hungry, some examining her figure and wondering if she were easy prey. Most were turned off by her presence, it was the supernatural aura she gave off. It helped her in situations like this when she looked most vulnerable. It was like a blinking neon sign that said 'stay away or else.' It let her reminisce, staring at the Willamette river, a barge floating aimlessly by.

Her night with Eric had not gone well. She'd expected as much, her words cutting him deeper than he'd anticipated, his reaction violent and unstoppable and filled with immediate sorrow. He took what she gave and threw it back in her face, threatening to leave her just as she needed him to do. She'd been laying traps all her life. She'd done it to help Eric, she'd done it to survive. This was no different. It was to help Eric. It was to survive. This was what she kept telling herself, kept repeating as the sun set fully and the bright lights of the city flickered on, illuminating the streets in swaths of yellow and red.

She left the waterfront and walked deeper into the city. She knew her way by heart, past the human strip clubs and into darker waters, the nightlife where the supernatural liked to play. There was already a crowd outside of Ravenscroft, the strip club with a riskier bent. It was underground knowledge, not for human ears save for the most daring, but Ravenscroft was the only strip club in Portland that catered specifically to alternative species.

"Hey, Sook," the bouncer, Mike, a were with a shocking head of hair said at the door. He let her in in front of the grumbling crowd waiting behind the red rope. She smiled at him though it didn't reach her eyes, slinking into the dimly lit club and searching for Pam. It was still early, they were setting up the stage and bar. She spotted Madeline, the beautiful French vampire with eyes like a newborn doe, her lingerie leaving little to the imagination as she examined the poll on the far right side of the section with elevated VIP tables.

"Madeline!" Sookie called, her voice cracking a bit. "Pam here?"

"In her office, Sookie," she waved her off. "Hey, you staying for the show tonight?"

"Maybe," Sookie replied half-heartedly.

"Don't you wanna see me twirl?" Madeline wrapped her legs around the pole, her pale skin reflecting the neon of the club as she spun, beginning to blur slightly at vampire speed.

"Stunning," Sookie complimented, pushing through to backstage before she lost her nerve.

Pam was the manager and owner of Ravenscroft, with Eric supplying the majority of the upfront capital before it opened. Her expertise in running a brothel during her human life came in handy; she was a competent, stern leader with militaristic standards. She tolerated no recreational drugs. Well, except for cocaine. Cocaine was fine. It _was_ 1977, after all.

"Sookie," Pam drawled in greeting, applying blood red lipstick in the reflection of a compact mirror. She sat behind her desk in the manager's office. It was immaculately organized, of course, with bins and bins of alphabetized file folders covering the walls. She snapped her compact closed and gave Sookie an up and down. "You look like shit."

"Thanks," Sookie said, sinking down into the chair across from Pam's desk. "I need a favor."

Pam leaned across her desk, eyeing Sookie suspiciously. Sookie wasn't one to ask for favors.

"I'm listening," she said.

"Tell Eric that I came here angry, that I said I was leaving for good and never coming back. Tell him I don't… love him anymore. And that he shouldn't follow me. And that it's over. And… and… that's it." Sookie was having trouble getting the words out, losing her train of thought, her master plan crumbling.

"What happened?" Pam asked, "Did you have a fight?"

"No," Sookie answered. "Well, yes, but that doesn't matter."

"How could that not matter?" Pam asked. "You always fight, then you make up. I would know. You don't just leave. Not for good, anyway."

"Because this isn't about a fight, Pam," Sookie spoke angrily, frustration leaking into her words. What she had to do was already impossible, she couldn't deal with Pam making it any harder.

"He'll never believe me," Pam said. "He'll feel your bond and he will come for you."

"You need to keep him here," Sookie cried, "If you don't he will die."

"Sookie what the hell is going on here?" Pam stood, her fangs dropping. She didn't take threats to her Master's life lightly.

"It's more dangerous for you to know," Sookie whispered, "They don't know about you."

"Who?"

"My people," she said, clutching a hand to her chest. "They'll kill you too. They won't hesitate. It's a debt of blood."

"Sookie…"

"Promise me you'll keep him here," Sookie begged, "And I'll do for you what you asked of me all those years ago. I'll leave."

"Come on, be reasonable," Pam said, her eyes flickering nervously, "I was trying to get you to stay not leave."

"It isn't an option."

"It's always an option. We can protect you. Eric can protect you."

"Not from this," Sookie whispered. "I'm not the one in danger. He is. Promise me you'll keep him here when I leave. His life depends on it."

"I'm not sure how," Pam confessed. "I've never been able to stop him when it comes to you."

Sookie reached down, twisting her wedding ring off her left hand.

"Give him this. Tell him it's over. Don't tell him anything else. If he knows it's about his own life, he will follow. You know he doesn't regard his life as he should." She pressed the golden band into Pam's palm, using her hand to fold Pam's fingers closed over it. Her false nails were long, creating a cage for the jewelry. "We'll both lose him if you don't do this."

"He could command me to tell him the truth," Pam warned.

"He won't," Sookie said confidently. She had to be confident or she would cry. "After what I said to him… he'll believe you."

Sookie turned to leave but Pam stopped her.

"Sookie," she said, her hand still gripping tightly on the ring. "I know you're doing this to save his life but he may not survive this."

"He has to," Sookie smiled sadly. "He has you."

x

From his coffin, Eric could tell something was deeply wrong. Off. He'd gone to ground the night before in a fit, furious at the sun for forcing him to place, sticking him to his spot when all he wanted to do was run, scream, kill. He searched his bond for Sookie, as he always did when he awoke in the evening, finding her across town with Pam at the club. Pam stayed the night there, preferring it, it was easier to open her business each evening when on location. Eric sighed, stretching his muscles, stiff from holding his body so tense the day before.

Tentatively, he pressed against their bond, trying to gauge Sookie's emotions. He himself was still angry, but there were emotions stronger than that warring for attention. Remorse, sadness, guilt for all he'd said in the heat of the moment. Loss, though he couldn't tell if that was him or her. That one made him swallow, nerves jumbling in his throat. He realized then he hadn't gotten a response through the bond. He pushed again, harder this time, asking the question. Still there was no response.

Concerned now, Eric stood, pulling on a pair of jeans and stalking over to the phone, dangling inoffensively on its hook. He nearly crunched the plastic dialing the number of the club, reaching Madeline first who transferred him to Pam with a lust-filled sigh. It rang and rang and rang. She wasn't answering. He tried again, her direct line, still without success. His fangs dropped, feeling again the overarching wrongness take over. With vampire speed, he pulled on boots and a T-shirt, opening the window of his bedroom and launching himself out into the night.

He flew over Portland quickly, the fir trees and buildings knit together in a weave, little dapples of light the stitching. The clouds above covered any stars, though the moon still attempted its hazy, smoky glow. Eric dropped down in front of Ravenscroft, the humans and other supernatural creatures awaiting outside staring at him with varying degrees of surprise. He pushed past the were, slamming him sideways with unnecessary force. He could smell her here, mixed up with the scents of lust, of sex, of cheap fucking cologne. He followed her scent straight to Pam's office, throwing open the door.

Pam was there waiting, an unreadable expression on her face.

Sookie, though, was long gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey all you cool cats & kittens. this one was hard to write. i promise there is a plot. it's just a ramping plot. stick with me. hope all is well, stay healthy x


	9. History and Memory

**Louisiana, 2008**

The sun beat down heavily on the two girls.

They lay on lounge chairs next to each other, slathered in tanning oil and wearing their skimpiest bikinis, doing all they could to absorb the last few hot days of the year before the cold took over the daytime temperatures. Sookie's nose was turning pink as well as her lips. Those were her two sensitive spots, always the first to burn in the summertime. Feeling the tingle, she flipped onto her stomach, letting her back soak in the rays. She could hear her grandmother nearby, the scent of shoveled earth as she tended to her garden, harvesting the last of the season's crops.

"How's Merlotte's been?" Hadley asked, flipping on her stomach as well to match Sookie's position. She wore a bright red bikini, her skin already nicely tanned. As cousins, both Sookie and Hadley sported the same long, blonde, wavy hair and bright blue eyes. They actually looked like they could be sisters first and cousins second. Hadley stretched out long, flexing her legs and arms as she did so. It was one of those calm, lazy afternoons where nothing mattered but the chirp of the crickets in the grass and the smell of a slow bake wafting from the kitchen.

"Oh, pretty good," Sookie answered slowly. She hadn't seen Hadley in a few months and she wasn't sure how much to fill her cousin in on. She knew Hadley had a bit of a wild streak, often disappearing for months or years before returning to Bon Temps seemingly out of thin air. The gossip around town was that she had a problem with drugs, always running off with strangers, lost for a while but finding her way back home eventually. True to form, she'd shown up bright and early that morning, knocking on their door like she hadn't been gone at all. Gran always welcomed her in anyway, never asking too many questions. Too many questions meant Hadley ran off again right quick.

"What about that boss of yours? Sam, right?" Hadley waggled her eyebrows suggestively. She'd been into Merlotte's a couple of times, both when Sookie was working and when she wasn't. It really was the only place nearby they could shoot the shit unbothered. Bon Temps wasn't exactly a nightlife hot spot, after all.

"Nothin's happenin' with Sam," Sookie laughed. She tickled the edge of Hadley's thoughts slightly, just to get an impression. Sookie did her best to stay out of the minds of her friends and family, but sometimes she was just too tempted. All she sensed from Hadley was polite curiosity tinged with a bit of lust for Sam. Totally harmless.

"So you won't mind if I visit his double-wide," Hadley grinned, reaching behind her to undo the strap of her bikini top to avoid tan lines.

"You go on ahead," Sookie grinned back.

"Really, Sook? You're not interested at all?" Hadley seemed surprised. Sam was a nice guy, after all. He was pretty easy on the eyes, too. Plus, it wasn't like Sookie had a lot of prospects. Well, she didn't used to at least.

"There is someone…" Sookie started, trailing off to hide her blush.

"Sookie Stackhouse you spill your guts right now!" Hadley propped herself up on her elbows, clutching the front of her bathing suit to her chest for modesty.

"Well, he's not exactly human," Sookie confessed quietly. "He's a vampire."

Hadley's face flashed, surprising Sookie. Fear first, which she expected. But then there was more. Concern, surprise, maybe even anger. Sookie reached out her mind to check in with Hadley's again, but to her shock it was like a wall was barring her from doing so. It wasn't like the vampires, where there was nothing there to listen to at all. It was more like a barricade, like the one Sookie tried to place on her own mind when she was blocking others out. But this one was defensive. Hadley was keeping her away and she was doing it on purpose.

"What vampire?" Hadley sat up, working quickly to hook her bathing suit into place. She grabbed the glass of sweet tea on the ground between them and took a long drink.

Sookie had Eric's name on the top of her tongue. It was right there, waiting to be spoken. That was her intent when she brought it up in the first place, anyway. She was going to tell Hadley all about Fangtasia, about Eric and his mysterious and unfounded attraction to her, about all of the crazy events that had happened in the past few weeks. She even considered telling her that Eric could fly, though she wasn't sure if that was a secret or not. Instead, Sookie bit her tongue. Something physically stopped her from speaking Eric's name aloud. Whether it was Hadley's surprising reaction to her confession or something more, she wasn't sure. Either way, she pivoted on impulse to Bill.

"His name's Bill. He just moved into town. He's the first vamp we've ever got in Bon Temps, at least that I know about," Sookie said, trying to keep her voice light and airy, like this was still just a casual chat about her love life.

"Bill what?" Hadley asked, searching for a last name.

"Compton," Sookie supplied, wondering when this turned into an interrogation. "He came into Merlotte's and we didn't even have any TrueBlood. He ordered some red wine though, to be polite. I think he wanted some company."

"How old is Bill?"

"Well, he died a little after the Civil War. He was a Confederate soldier. I can't recall the exact date but I think he was born in the 1830s, somewhere thereabouts. Gran was thrilled, she wanted him to talk to her Descendants of the Glorious Dead group but we never settled on a time." Sookie knew she was talking too much, supplying too much information. But it was something about the way Hadley was asking her questions that made her feel uneasy, like it was a test she had the possibility of failing.

Hadley relaxed mightily at this, though, so Sookie'd clearly said the right thing somehow.

"Is he cute?" Hadley asked with a small grin. That's when she knew she was in the clear. Sookie flipped over onto her back once more.

"He ain't bad," Sookie winked. "You stickin' around any? Maybe you could meet him." Sookie was playing with fire offering this, especially after Bill had been banned from the town by Eric. Still, Sookie had some sticky sense in the back of her mind that she needed to commit to this narrative.

"I would but I gotta jet after supper, meetin' some friends down in New Orleans who need my truck," Hadley said. Sookie's shoulders dropped in relief; she would've had to follow through somehow if Hadley had agreed to the meeting. Hadley had a boy's truck. It reminded her of Jason's, but it was better kept up and didn't have any of Jason's gaudy decals on the side. It was a simple, red Ford pickup with a large bed and as long as Sookie could remember Hadley'd been driving it in and out of Bon Temps whenever she so chose.

It was with said truck that she drove away that evening, Gran and Sookie waving from their spots on the porch. Sookie checked the time; she was due to start her shift at Merlotte's in a little over an hour. It was Friday and she hadn't heard a word from Eric all week. Each day she came in expecting to see him in the booth, or at least to show up at some point during her shift. But he never came. She didn't hear a peep out of him at all, actually. Sookie was frustrated even though she didn't want to admit to herself that that meant she had been enjoying Eric's attentions.

In the moment, they frightened her. They were urgent, unstoppable. Yet she found herself missing them when he was gone.

She put on her Merlotte's uniform half-heartedly, kissing goodnight to Gran as she climbed the rickety old stairs to her bedroom. Friday meant a big crowd, lots of thoughts, unwanted hands and an endless supply of the same, watery beer. Sookie sighed, wanting none of it. She'd never in her life been one to skip out on an obligation, to lie or even fabricate. It was a sin in the eyes of the Lord, after all. But the moon looked so bright, full, wanting. She was seduced.

"Sam?" she said hoarsely into the phone when answered. "I'm not feelin' well, I don't think I can make it in tonight." She coughed a couple times for added effect.

"No worries Sook, feel better, I'll call around," Sam replied quickly. Sookie could hear the sounds of the bar behind him, already picking up for the evening.

"Thanks, Sam," she said generously, hanging up the phone with a click.

From her last experience of going to a vampire bar, she knew for a fact she had nothing in her closet that would fit in at a vampire bar. She shuffled through her summer dresses, it was the last few days of the season she could still wear them without going numb. She didn't want to waste it. She decided on a pale yellow number, something to show off the tan she'd earned that day. The fabric was light and it dipped low at her breasts, tying in the back in a knot. She could wear no bra. Heck, she'd already sinned once tonight, she figured she might as well go all in and ask God for forgiveness in a batch. Her pastor would frown on her for that logic, of that Sookie was sure, but she figured the Bible was full of loopholes anyway.

It wasn't long before she was flying down the highway, her hair down and windblown. There was a chill in the air so she brought her trusty denim jacket, though it sat beside her unworn on the passenger's seat. She didn't begin to question her rash choices until she pulled up in front of Fangtasia. The place was packed; overflowing. The neon sign glowing its signature blood red. Last time, she'd had a mission and a vampire guarding her well-being. This time, she had no protection and no clear goal. Deep down, she knew she wanted to see Eric. That had to be enough.

She crept to the back of the line, tucking her arms into her jacket. The night was already growing cold, she could feel the goose bumps arise on her exposed flesh. So much for showing off her tan. The girls around her were somehow dressed even more impractically than Sookie, all short-cropped leather and see-through lace. All of them were human, she noticed, and as they waited a large tour bus pulled into the lot. She could see a variety of faces pressed up against the glass from inside already trying to get a better look. The crowd unloaded and filed into the line behind her, two giddy, middle-aged women standing far closer to Sookie than she would've liked.

"You been here before?" one of them asked. Her hair was curled in ringlets and she wore a T-shirt that read BITE ME across her chest with an arrow pointing to her neck.

"Only once," Sookie replied, trying to be polite. Their thoughts were mired in fear and lust and they enveloped Sookie like a heady fog. She tried to clear her mind from their influences but it was already growing difficult. She worried what it would be like inside and, not for the first time, began to regret her choices.

"Is it true you could get bit in there?" the other asked. She was the smaller of the two, thinner and meeker than her excited counterpart. "I heard you could get bit."

"Don't think it's allowed, technically," Sookie replied, trying to comfort her. To Sookie's surprise, the girl actually looked disappointed. She grumbled to her friend that maybe the cover charge and overpriced drinks weren't going to be worth it after all.

"You've seen the photos," the first one said, her eyes hungry. "It'll be worth it either way." Sookie then got a clear picture of Eric, nearly nude as his private area was covered by only a small piece of fabric, lounging on luxurious velvet in what was a clear promotional photo for Fangtasia.

"Good Lord," Sookie mumbled, simultaneously embarrassed and enthralled.

"We try to avoid higher powers in this club," drawled a familiar voice above her. Pam, tapping her stiletto impatiently, stared down at Sookie with a manicured eyebrow raised. Sookie gulped, she hadn't even realized that she'd gotten to the front of the line. "The good news is," Pam said before Sookie could respond, "I'm not charging you a cover. The bad news is, Eric lost the bet and now he owes me $50. Good news for me, bad news for him and possibly you if he's grumpy about it."

"Huh?" Sookie asked, confused.

"Don't worry about it, Sookie. Eric is taking a meeting but he'll be back soon," Pam said, opening the door and pushing her inside with a firm hand on her lower back.

Sookie stumbled into the space. It was far more crowded than the last time she was here, though she never properly had a chance to really examine the scenery when she was with Bill. She figured it was pretty close to a regular club, what with the loud music and the sweaty mass of bodies, though Sookie didn't often frequent human clubs, either. It was a far cry from Merlotte's, which at best was sparsely occupied by rednecks and pretty much stuck to stadium country music. Everyone in this crowd was hungry for something, whether it was blood or sex or both. She could feel it, she could hear it, she could taste it. It overwhelmed her and she found herself seeking out the bar immediately.

A beautiful vampire tended to the crowd, pouring drinks so fast her movement blurred. Her eyes were doe-shaped, her hair cut in a fashionable lob. Many of the men, both human and vampire, leaned over the bar in an attempt to capture her attention. She flirted wildly with everyone in the vicinity but kept pouring at the same time. It was actually quite impressive. But when her eyes landed on Sookie, she froze.

Immediately, she had Sookie in her arms, lifting her up off the ground. She wasn't that much taller or visibly stronger than Sookie herself, but her vampire abilities well made up for that. She set Sookie back down and placed her hands on her shoulders instead.

"Well, I'll be damned," the vampire smiled, her fangs halfway out. "I guess I'm already damned. But I actually never thought I'd see you again."

Sookie had the uncomfortable feeling of having forgotten someone important, like a family member or a church friend, though she was positive she'd never seen this vampire before. She would've remembered her beauty. It enraptured everyone in the vicinity, herself included.

"Sorry," Sookie said cautiously, "Do I know you?"

"You really don't remember," she gaped. Then she snapped her fingers in front of Sookie's face a couple of times as if it would break her out of some type of stupor. When that didn't work, she went on. "Well, I'm Madeline. We've known each other for a few millennia, give or take a handful of years. We're friends even though you're the reason I've never been able to bang the absolutely fine piece of ass that is Eric Northman. Not that I'm petty. By the way, loving the look. Very Southern Belle. It's so darling on you. Wait, this means Pam won the bet!" She said all of this very quickly, the words bleeding into each other.

"Hey!" a vampire called from across the bar, "Service?"

"Keep your fuckin' pants on!" Madeline yelled back, hissing with her fangs fully descended. Then she turned back to Sookie, a concerned smile on her face. "Come, sit at Eric's booth. You look pale for a non-vampire."

She dragged Sookie through the crowd to the only empty booth in the club, even though it was relatively front and center. It must be common knowledge that only staff were allowed to sit there, Sookie thought, settling herself down uneasily. Madeline zipped away then returned in an instant, a glass in her hand.

"Gin and tonic, your favorite right?" she asked, sliding the drink over to her.

"Uh, yeah," Sookie replied, simply because it was true.

"I'm on bar tonight… obviously… but I'll catch up with you later," Madeline smiled. "It really is good to see you again."

"You too?" She tried for casual but it came out as a question instead.

No one attempted to join Sookie at the booth, but she could hear snippets of thoughts over the thumping of EDM that told her her presence there was not going unnoticed. Most were just curious, though some were angry or jealous. It seemed that the booth most often remained unoccupied, but when it was taken, it was Eric who commanded the table. It was always Eric. She caught flashes of his face in their memories, serious, then playful, then murderous. The people with whom he spoke were a wide variety, though most looked to be vampires as well. She roamed the minds of the clubgoers until she became overwhelmed by their chorusing volume, working hard to place the cold shield down over her mind and block them out. She was pretty successful, which is why she missed Eric's arrival entirely.

She was on her third drink, holding the glass between her hands as the condensation accumulated, moistening them. The night wasn't going at all how she'd anticipated or, at least, how she'd hoped. She'd been sitting in the booth for nearly an hour with only Madeline to check on her occasionally to drop off another drink. Already she'd seen a few humans, their necks sporting fresh wounds, emerge from the bathrooms only a few moments before their vampire counterparts. So much for not on the premises.

"Are you disappointed with my club?" Eric smirked, towering above her in his usual all black. She noticed his hair was combed back over his ears, already growing longer than when she'd last seen him. The blonde practically glowed beneath the club lights. Before she could answer him, he slid in beside her even though the opposite bench was perfectly empty.

"No," she said, "Just… overwhelmed I guess."

"Too loud?" he asked, the mischievous attitude gone, his face only showing concern. Somehow, just like Madeline, he was exactly right.

Beneath the table, he held out his palm to her. She took it without hesitation, the thoughts of the crowd falling silent. It was her favorite thing about vampires, their ability to override her telepathy and leave her in blissful, cherished silence. She'd discovered their power when she first met Bill and became immediately addicted. Without her explaining it, Eric already seemed to understand. That was becoming a disconcerting pattern.

Eric's thumb rubbed small, soothing circles on the top of her hand, using the pointer finger of his other hand to trace the long, thin bones of her fingers. The rest of the club being relatively silent, she was able to fully focus on the vampire in front of her.

"Did you not have work tonight?" he questioned casually. She blushed in response and he smiled slightly, perplexed.

"I did," she replied, "I sort of… faked sick."

"Bad girl," Eric grinned, his eyes dark. Her heart thumped in her chest, heat rising to her cheeks; she worried he could hear it. "You're flushed." She let him peel off her denim jacket, leaving her arms and shoulders bare save for the thin strap around her neck. He gazed appreciatively at her exposed skin, pausing for a particularly long time on her cleavage, before leaning his large body over and inhaling very slowly, the tip of his nose brushing her clavicle.

"I smell the sunlight," he exhaled.

He raised his head then, his face hovering so close to her own that she swallowed. He was holding himself back, she could see it, the small line of concentration between his brows, the way his chest rose and fell though he didn't need to breathe. She could close the distance in a heartbeat. It would take but a moment and her thirst would be sated. She felt warmer, somehow, even though he'd just removed her jacket, like she was an oven heating up from the core, her temperature rising steadily with each passing moment. And maybe it was the club, or the heat, or the gin and tonics Madeline kept bringing over, or the stray piece of hair that fell over his forehead, or his hand clutching hers to keep everything else silent, or all of it, together, all at once, that made her do it.

She didn't know the reason. The reason didn't matter.

She leaned forward and tentatively brushed her lips against his, the ghost of a touch. He didn't move so she tried again, tilting her head and pressing more insistently, feeling then his sudden intake of breath, his give. He moved to action, gathering her to him with his large hands, clutching at her without care for their audience, grasping the bare skin of her back, hooking his hands beneath her butt to drag her onto his lap. She felt rather than heard the snick of his fangs dropping, though he didn't pause his actions in the slightest, trailing his hands down her front then back up into her hair, gripping tightly as he tilted her head, his lips brushing down her jawline, her neck, her collarbone, his tongue lapping at her skin animalistically. She was putty in his hands, gripping his leather jacket with all of her strength, just trying to hold on as he worshipped her.

A pointed, annoyed clearing of the throat broke them apart. A growl rose in Eric's throat and he whipped around, pressing Sookie into the back of the booth with his body, his arms outstretched. The movement was so quick and fluid it felt instinctual, habitual.

"Eric." It was Pam, her arms crossed over her chest. "Last I checked, this was not that kind of club. And you still owe me my $50."

Sookie peeked out from beneath Eric's bicep to see Pam's stern, though slightly amused face. Behind her, the club had gone mostly still despite the music continuing its thumping bass. They were watching the show, wondering what would happen next. She even spotted the two tourists that were in line behind her outside. They stood in the corner, nursing red wine, staring at the scene with wide eyes. Sookie tugged on Eric's jacket and he stopped growling to glance over his shoulder at her.

"Where can we go?" Sookie asked softly but urgently. Eric slipped out of the booth, dragging her behind him. She did her best not to trip over her own feet, sticking to him tightly, his shadow as the crowd he did not acknowledge parted before him. He pushed through a set of double doors and she had a burst of memory, an image of the dark, dungeon-like basement she found herself in the first time she visited Fangtasia. Eric, standing at the top of the stairs like a deity framed in halo, expecting something he wasn't going to get. They took a sharp left before the basement doors, traveling down a long hallway and entering a surprisingly corporate office.

It was primarily made up of cabinetry, some old signage, a discarded box or two. A small couch pressed up against one wall, an old computer on a desk, its screensaver running. The fluorescent lighting flickered slightly, its opacity dim, supplemented by a standing lamp in the corner of the room. Eric sat her down on the couch, moving behind the desk and shuffling things around. He was silent as he took out a small, worn key, opening a drawer and removing a wooden box from within. He walked back over to the couch, settling down beside her.

She was nervous again, though she didn't know why. It wasn't Eric. She didn't fear him. She feared the possibility of the moment, the idea that anything at all could happen next. Eric's fingers drummed over the top of the box but he didn't open it. He was watching her, shifting slightly like he couldn't get comfortable. She realized then that he was nervous, too.

"What's wrong?" she questioned, placing one hand over his to still the anxious twitch. "Are you afraid?"

"Can you feel my fear?" he asked with urgency, with hope.

"I can see it," she said. He nodded then, slightly deflated. She didn't know what she'd done wrong. She wanted to press her thumb to the worry line between his brows, smooth it out and calm him. Instead, she removed her hand from his and put it back on her own lap.

"Madeline said she talked to you," he began slowly, looking up at her without opening the box.

"The bartender?" Sookie asked. Eric nodded. "She hugged me. She said some weird stuff, actually, like she'd known me hundreds of years. Maybe she thought I was a vampire."

Eric's jaw flexed and his hands tensed up.

"No, Sookie," he said slowly. "She knows you as I know you."

"I don't understand," Sookie replied.

"Do you trust me?"

"I don't know. I think so."

"That'll have to do," he said.

Eric finally lifted the snap on the box, opening it up. He turned it toward her, revealing a small collection of nick nacks inside. At first, it seemed like a handful of unrelated objects. Little tokens, photographs, jewelry. A collection kept by a wanton teenager, hidden in secret beneath a canopy bed. But the closer she looked, the more was revealed. Many of the things looked impossibly old, though she knew Eric had lived for a very long time. He picked up a figurine, a little hand-carved sun, roughly executed, the wood brittle with age.

"You made me this," he said, very softly, "In Virginia."

"I've never been to Virginia," Sookie said absently. He ignored her, flipping over the item. The letters E+S were engraved in the back, small yet clear.

"It was the 1700s, a human taught you how to do the carving. We had a bit of land. We grew wheat." His mouth was moving but it was like he was speaking in a foreign language she only partially understood; she struggled to comprehend every other word. He gently took the figurine from her hand, placing it back in the box and rooting through once more, pulling out a photograph.

"Berlin," he said, handing it to her. It wasn't a typical photo; it was heavier, like it was made of metal. "I didn't want to take this. You insisted." He was smiling slightly at the memory as she gazed down, holding it close to her face to examine it. He was crystal clear and painfully handsome in the suit, his hair long and tied back. Her impression was blurry but she could still make out her own features–her sloped nose and angled jaw–just as she saw it every day in the mirror. But it was impossible.

He took the photo from her hands, somehow knowing she wouldn't put it down herself. He began showing her more, faster each time, unloading one item on top of the next. Little trinkets, jewelry, a shoelace. A linen belt, so old it looked like it belonged in a museum. A feather, as long as a peacock's and just as vibrant, though it was a plume from a different bird. A flower dried and pressed between the pages of a book. More photographs, beginning in black and white then moving to color, the most recent being her in a bikini top and bell-bottom jeans, sprawled out on a bed, her hair wild. It was a polaroid, yellowed with age, taken from an aerial view. She was smiling but her eyes were closed. She looked undeniably happy.

"Portland." He was quieter now, like he was afraid to disturb the peace. "There were other polaroids but," he hesitated, "They're gone now, I'm afraid." She didn't ask what happened to them. She didn't ask anything at all. He picked up a little velvet pouch. It sat in clear view in the corner of the box but he'd not picked it up. He undid the delicate string cinching it closed then turned it over, a gold band falling into his open hand.

He picked up her left hand where it sat clenched in her lap, gently coaxing her fingers open, sliding the ring onto her fourth finger where it sat flush against her skin, like her bone itself had formed to it and not the other way around.

"We were married," he said, then corrected himself. "We are married."

She swallowed several times, willing herself to say something. Anything. Instead, she just stared at the ring as it glinted in the light, feeling herself to be in a dream, dizzy like the ground was no longer level but instead sloping downward, willing her to let herself fall. Eric was becoming concerned in the silence. He placed the box on the floor, scooting closer to her on the sofa until he, too, was flush against her skin.

"But it doesn't make sense," she whispered, still not meeting his gaze. She felt his fingertips under her chin as he tilted her head up. There was blood pooling in his lower lids but it did not fall.

"It's me," he said, his fist making contact with his own chest in a thump. "You know me."

"I don't know what to say," she confessed, feeling the foreign coolness of the band on her ring finger. She tried to take it off, fearful of its power. His hands closed over hers, stopping the action.

"No," he choked out. "Please."

He gathered her to him tightly, his arms wrapped around her shoulders like a vice, her head tucked beneath his chin so she could no longer see his face. She gripped his shirt, pressing the side of her face to his chest and hearing only the silence of the dead within him. She felt his fingers run through her hair slowly, his cheek pressed to the top of her head, the comforting regularity of his breathing.

"What do you need?" he asked her, his voice hardly a whisper.

"Time," she confessed. Her body and her mind were at war. Physically, she wanted to be closer. It was as if nothing could sate her. The closer she got to him, the more she needed. She desired to be inside his skin, to live within him and to never leave. Her mind was the opposite. It ran in the other direction, a chaotic mix of fear and shock and horror and misunderstanding. Everything she'd known to be true was a fiction. Either that, or everything Eric had told her tonight was a lie.

She felt him nod above her, though his arms grasped tighter.

"Time," he said, his voice soothing and warm. "We've always had time."

**Scottish Highlands, 1415**

Eric stumbled through the open field, racing against the growing light in the sky. He was covered in blood, some his own but most of it from the lives he'd taken. He could feel their pursuit, sense it, they were closing in fast and he'd be dead on his feet in the daylight. He pushed into a patch of densely packed wood, hearing the distant burble of a stream as it bubbled over rocks and branches.

His abrupt return to free will left him disoriented and confused. He didn't understand what had happened, he only knew he had to hide. A ray of early morning light pierced through the canopy of trees, slicing at his skin like a third degree burn. He yelped like a wounded animal, skidding to a halt in a pool of fallen leaves. He had no choice, beginning to dig furiously with his hands, scooping out the land and throwing it over his shoulder.

Footsteps were approaching rapidly. He looked up, his eyes locked in on the sound, nearly running away again until he felt the tug on his bond telling him to stay still. He stood, watching in shock as Sookie broke through the trees and into the clearing, hurtling herself toward him.

"Sookie," he cried, reaching out to her. "It wasn't me–"

She cut him off, stopping a few feet away.

"Not now. Keep digging. Go quickly."

He did as she ordered. When the grave was deep enough, he dropped down into it, sliding the dirt atop himself as he went.

"Eric," she said very seriously, peering down at him, her face a mask. "Godric is dead."

Eric stared at her for only a moment. Her long, blonde hair hung down, her palms glowed with power, her background was an intricate network of greens and browns and blues. Then his vision was obscured. He was covered with dark soil and dried leaves until he, too, was dead in his grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all. i watched the pilot of true blood last night (just quarantine activities) and bill was actually really, really hot? i know this is blasphemy here, but what happened?! their stylist ought to be fired for what was done to that poor man. anyway, i've plotted out the rest of this fic and it's looking to be around 20 chapters give or take. i think the pacing will work but i've gotten mixed feedback on that front so far, which i totally get as i am not a professional author and do not claim to be! love and welcome all of your thoughts, this really is such a genuinely supportive fandom. stay healthy x


	10. Here and Gone

**Cannes, 1410**

In the daylight, the sun sparkled over the côte d'azur like a thousand individual diamonds. The aquamarine waters transformed at night, the color deeper and more opaque, washing up on the sands of the croisette in staccato splashes. The journey from London to the south of France was arduous, particularly for Eric given his need to find shelter every day in many inconvenient circumstances, but it had to be done. Godric was waiting for them and it was far safer to be with Godric than it was to stay on English soil. It hadn't been safe on English soil for years.

With Godric came the protection of the bloodline, an automatic safeguard because Eric was his progeny. It gave both a reason to co-exist and it felt natural and normal in the vampire world, a Maker with his progeny. There were no questions to be had. Godric had created only one other vampire in his long existence, though he met the true death hundreds of years before Godric found Eric dying on the battlefield in Scandinavia. He spoke very little of the vampire, only in reference or when he was trying to prove a point. Making a vampire was no small feat and it was a lifetime of responsibility. And when lifetime meant immortal, that decision became all the more important.

The call-to-arms to create more vampires for the war in the Highlands was not a decision that many of the community agreed with, particularly Godric. He'd lived through countless wars, both human and supernatural. Vampires were not intended to be fodder. They were powerful weapons, but too volatile to be controlled in an arsenal. They were predators, not soldiers. That was the line Eric used when leaving London and it was the line he stuck with. He was loyal to his Maker, he would follow him and his orders, and those orders were to leave England and join him in France. All vampires respected another Maker's command even if they disagreed with it. None stopped Eric and Sookie on their departure.

When they finally arrived in Cannes, they were met with an empty townhouse. Sookie rapped lightly on the front door with her knuckles, not wanting to interrupt Godric if he were conducting business. Godric, as old as he was, often hosted tribunals with other powerful vampires. They were the law where there was no law. They drew the line in the sand and delivered the punishment when that line was crossed. It was unwise to walk in on these meetings, even by accident. When there was no answer, Sookie reached out with her mind.

There was a tickling of voices, a whisper of thoughts. The dreams of the neighbors as they slept but nothing inside the house; she couldn't even sense any voids. Eric seemed to be following the same train, his brow creased as he leaned up against the door, the wood beneath his feet creaking in protest.

"Something is wrong," Eric said quietly, "I do not feel him near."

"You have been separated for years, perhaps the bond has weakened," Sookie tried to reason, but Eric shook his head in protest.

"No," he said, "If Godric were near I would know it."

He tested the handle of the door. Locked. Sookie knew what was coming next and took two steps back, guarding herself from any flying shrapnel as Eric kicked the door in. They stepped through the threshold cautiously, Eric sniffing the air as they went, hunting for any signs of life. Or death. Sookie struggled to see; the townhouse was cloaked in darkness. Heavy curtains covered the windows, blocking out moon or starlight. Even the furniture was covered with fabric. She trailed her fingers along a tablecloth and they came away coated with dust. She could only just make out a spiral staircase, the narrow structure twisting to the floors above.

"No one has been here in ages," Sookie said, pointing out the obvious.

"It does not make sense," Eric mumbled. "He was very clear with me."

"Something must have changed."

"Godric does not change his mind," Eric snapped, his fangs dropping.

Sookie rubbed his arm with her hand, choosing to ignore Eric's anger. He hadn't fed and his Maker was nowhere to be found. His frustration showed face in outbursts of violence, it was part of the nature of a vampire. Eric looked skyward and sighed, stepping away from Sookie.

"I will cover the house," he said, darting away at vampire speed to ensure the rooms were all truly empty. She knew he was doing this to get away from her, to cool off, so she let him, instead choosing to walk back out through the front door and onto the cobblestone road that lined the beach. The moonlight made the scene before her milky, the street awash in reflective glow from the recent rain. Everyone nearby was inside sleeping. Not even the glow of candle could be spotted on a windowsill; all thoughts she could hear were dazzling dreams.

A stone wall overlooked the beach, a man-made structure designed to combat the rising tide. She pulled herself up, the linen of her dress bunching awkwardly as she climbed, perching atop the stones to gaze outward, to listen to the rush of the waves. It wasn't long before Eric joined her, sauntering up silently behind. She wouldn't have known him to be there had the bond inside her not pulsed with his arrival, the snap of a magnet drawn close. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing his face into her lower back.

"We will find him," she said, weaving her hands through his where they knit in her lap.

"Perhaps." His voice was muffled, his face pressed into the back of her dress where it met her shawl.

Sookie knew the reality of the situation. Without Godric making himself known to Eric–without his call–they would never find him. Godric was not sociable, not sloppy. He did not speak to other vampires, he did not leave a trail of bodies in his wake as others did. Godric was like a specter; he left no trace.

Eric pulled on her stomach and she let herself fall backwards, knowing he would catch her before she hit the ground. True to form, she landed in his grip, her feet hitting the stone with hardly a sound. She turned around to look at him, reaching her arms up to lock around his neck. She kissed him softly, standing on her toes, a hint of peace. His face smoothed out, so subtle it was nearly imperceptible. The disappearance of the line between his brows, the slight uplift to the corners of his mouth. That was all it took. It was simple.

They retreated to the townhouse together, climbing the spiral staircase to Godric's room. A coffin sat in the corner, its lid partially askew. A dusty couch and a thin blanket, the window open for air. The sound of the sea, the smell of salt as it wafted through the curtains. There were no candles to be lit, there was only the moon as it dipped low over the water, cresting the current, signaling the imminent return of day. They sat together on the couch, neither feeling the need to speak. Sookie held her wrist up to him in silent offering, Eric cradling the delicate skin and bones in his large palms. She felt his nose run up and down her forearm, following the path of her vein until he bit, his fangs sinking into the flesh and sucking until she felt the familiar sensation of lightness, of fragility.

Still, he was learning how much was too much.

Still, he did not always notice when his discipline slipped.

She tugged on his hair until he released her, his tongue lapping at her skin, gathering up the excess and closing the wound. He kissed it, feather light, before walking over to the coffin and settling himself in for morning. She was already horizontal and half-asleep when she heard the lid scrape closed.

Sookie awoke to a loud clatter, her eyes shooting open in confusion as she tried to gauge what had made the noise. It was nearing sunset but it was still clearly light out. The room looked different in the day, sort of pale and worn down, the dust and disarray easier to see. There was a large piece of wood in the middle of the room where it was not last night. She didn't understand where it came from until she saw the smoke, smelled the burning flesh and decay. It was the lid to the coffin. Sookie bolted over to it, standing over Eric as he writhed inside, his eyes bloodshot and squinting as the sunlight glanced over his pale form.

"Eric, it is day!" she cried, running to the windows and shutting the curtains as best she could. They were old and ragged; light still leaked through as the sun glowed hot over the reflective water below.

"Godric calls me," he choked, sitting up only to cower away from the window. "I must go."

"You will die if you go now," she scolded, grabbing the heavy wooden lid and enlisting her strength to drag it back over to the now-open coffin. "It will be full dark in an hour. You will wait."

She pushed on his shoulders, trying to force him back into position. He grabbed her wrist in protest, his skin red and scabbed, burnt from the sun.

"I must go," he repeated robotically, as if in a trance.

She blasted her light straight into his chest and he fell backward with a huff, his expression bewildered as she slid the lid of the coffin closed over him. She sat atop the wood, feeling his frustration and anger and need through their bond. Outside the window the sun began to sink over the water. She wished for it to slow down, for the day to last just a little bit longer. She worried about Godric's call and worried, too, what the night would bring.

**Louisiana, 2008**

He couldn't remember her name. Samantha? Sarah? Susanna? Samantha seemed right. There was always a specific cocktail of traits that caused Eric to pull someone out of the crowd and she had all three. Blonde hair, tan skin, and a certain touch of naivete. That was the mixture he was drawn to; always had been, always would be. He hadn't needed to glamour her. She was more than willing to offer herself to him, as most women were. They were on the couch in his back office and Eric was on his third pull of her blood–it had a citrus aftertaste, almost like lemon–when she started to advance on him physically.

Her hand clutched his arm, her bare leg draped over his thigh.

"Oh, yes," she moaned, the soundtrack of pornography, what she thought he wanted to hear. He pushed her off, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You can go," he said sternly, picking up her jacket and handing it to her.

"But I thought–" she began hopefully, hovering at the door.

"No," he silenced her with the single word, settling himself behind his desk with a sigh. Ever since Sookie's return, he'd felt uneasy and disconcerted. He'd spent a very long time learning how to be a proper vampire, learning how to remove his feelings and right problems without any unnecessary roadblocks. He'd even been given a position of power, though he'd had his suspicions that the role of Sheriff was assigned to him in order to ensure he wouldn't invoke his age and strength to overtake another position elsewhere. He remembered the lawlessness of the past, when word came from the eldest and at whim, when punishments were doled out only to the most egregious sinners, to the ones that threatened to betray their existence to the humans.

Now his days were spent managing a business and maintaining order. Doing fucking taxes. Pretending to mainstream, entertaining humans, biting the willing… it was all becoming a bit repetitive, a bit dull. He was struggling to give a shit, especially now that all of his thoughts were elsewhere, particularly focused on a remote, aging house in the middle of Bon Temps. He wondered how long he had before Sookie disappeared again. He worried he was wasting their precious time. She'd always been very upfront with him about how much she had left. But now? Nothing was certain. They were in uncharted territory.

He didn't know what he expected after showing her the box of their collected belongings. He wasn't anticipating her to suddenly remember everything, of course. It wasn't a magic box, it was just stuff. But, at the same time, he couldn't help but feel disappointed when that wasn't exactly what happened. He'd walked her to her car that night and she'd kissed him, but it was distracted and empty. His gut response was to keep her there by any means necessary, to force her to stay with either his words or his actions. But he couldn't do it. He reminded himself that she'd asked for time, that his days of holding on too hard and too long lived in the past. He reminded himself how poorly it ended when that was his strategy. He reminded himself to let go.

So he did. He let go. He stayed away. Again. And it fucking sucked. He stalked out to the main section of Fangtasia, surveying the scene before him apathetically. There were more humans than vampires that night and they were near to capacity. It was strange how quickly the world shifted after the Great Revelation. He had to admire humans in their ability to adapt to the unexpected, their resilience under pressure. Their stupid, vapid attraction to the danger in their midst.

Pam stood by the door examining a girl's ID. To Eric she looked far too young but Pam let her through anyway.

"Pamela," he said at normal speaking volume, calling to her both verbally and through their bond. "Komma."

She shot to him immediately, an impressive feat considering the amount of latex and leather she was wearing.

"I intend to go to Sookie's," he said, then paused for her response.

"Are you asking permission?" she snarked. He growled and she cowered slightly. "Sorry, Master."

"All governmental dealings that come tonight must wait until tomorrow. The bar, however, is yours."

"Did you respond to Sophie-Anne yet?" Pam asked as they walked out to the back door together toward Eric's Corvette. Pam's heels clacked noisily on the pavement.

"No. Nor will I ever," he said, opening the door and sliding into the driver's seat.

"I take it you don't want me to pass that message along, should she call again?" Pam asked with a wry smile. Eric simply glanced up at her, matching her smile with his own.

"I would not recommend it."

He started the car, the engine roaring to life.

"Wait," Pam said suddenly, disappearing into the club then back out in an instant. She reached through the open window holding an inconspicuous, matte ring in her palm.

"You kept this," Eric said, his voice rising slightly in angry surprise. "I told you to destroy my wedding band years ago. You disappoint me." He looked at the ring in disgust, his hands clenched on the steering wheel.

"Fine, you can thank me later. And you still owe me $50. I told you she would come if you stayed away," she snapped, ignoring his attitude. Pam flipped her hand over. The ring made a metallic, clinking sound when it dropped into the cupholder, spinning on its axis slightly before landing in place.

"$50? Over my dead body," Eric grinned wickedly, throwing the car into reverse.

"So anytime then?" Pam shouted as he swerved out of the lot, throwing him a very rude though very deserved gesture that he caught clear sight of in his rearview mirror.

He made the drive to Sookie's in very little time. He would have preferred to fly, but that mode of transportation would not have fit into his plan that evening. When he pulled up to her house it was dark and her car was gone. Frustrated, he decided to try her second location, driving through the backwoods to Merlotte's. It wasn't her night to work, but sure enough her car was in the lot next to all the other beat-down pickups and fixed-up commuter cars.

"Well hey there, Eric." The red-headed waitress, Arlene, stood outside, her arms crossed over her chest in the cold. She sucked on a cigarette, the smoke wafting between them. He saw the goosebumps rise on her legs.

"Is Sookie working tonight?" he asked, cutting straight to the point.

"Naw, she's just pickin' up her paycheck from Sam. Think they're in his back office. You can wait out here with me if you like." She batted her eyelashes at him, blowing smoke out through the left side of her lips.

"No," he said abruptly, before remembering there was a chance the conversation could get back to Sookie, "But thank you."

Eric entered Merlotte's, following Sookie's scent until it reached a door that read EMPLOYEES ONLY. He hovered outside of it for a moment. The restaurant was not very crowded, only a few families in the booths and a couple guys playing pool in the corner. When he concentrated he could hear her voice. She was riled up, he could smell the adrenaline. He caught snippets of what she said followed by Sam's angry responses.

He knew of Sam as he was sure Sam knew of him. Owning a bar in the radius of Shreveport put him on Eric's radar, though him being a shifter definitely added him to the second, more exclusive list of supernatural beings he had to keep an eye on. Another of his unwanted responsibilities as Sheriff of the Area. Usually, he ignored the were and shifter populations, but that penchant didn't exactly apply when the shifter in question was fighting in a closed back room with Sookie.

"–what I do or do not do–" Sookie's voice carried through the walls, "–none of your business."

"I'm just trying–" Sam this time.

"–get over it. I told you–" Sookie, angrily.

"–listen to me–"

"–Sam, I said I'm not–"

They were speaking over each other. There was a bang and a crash; Eric had had enough. He burst through the door and into the office, shattering the flimsy lock holding it closed. He had Sam by the neck and pressed up against the back wall in an instant, but to his surprise, Sam's forehead was already wounded.

"Eric?" Sookie gasped in confusion. In her hand she held a heavy book clearly just pulled off the shelf behind her. He could swear the title read HOW TO RUN A BAR FOR DUMMIES.

"Get off me you fanger," the shifter ground out, his voice rasping through his throat as Eric clenched tighter.

"That's not very polite," Eric said, finally relaxing his grip. "It looks as though Sookie beat me to the punch. Or should I say the smack?" Sam dropped to the floor, pushing around Eric. He snatched the book out of Sookie's hand and rooted through a stack of envelopes, handing her one of them, his forehead trickling blood. It would form a nasty bump, of that Eric was sure. He couldn't help but smile slightly; she may not be blasting Sam across the room with her light, but a heavy book would certainly do the job.

"Here's your paycheck," Sam grumbled. "Y'all best leave."

"Sookie." Eric moved to face her. "I'd like to have a word with your boss if you don't mind."

Sookie glanced at him warily with a tinge of annoyance before stepping outside. He waited until he heard her footsteps enter the front of the restaurant before turning on Sam, his features deadly.

"If you do not respect my authority as Sheriff, I will involve the weres. Do you understand?" he asked softly yet clearly. Sam gritted his teeth.

"This is my bar and I wasn't doin' anythin' wrong," he said.

"Your bar is in my Area, shifter, and you knew that when you moved in. Sookie is off limits. I do not often give warnings but I will in this case as you are her boss. Have a good evening."

He left the restaurant quickly, finding Sookie leaned up against his car looking furious. She came toward him, her short dress flapping around her legs, her jean jacket buttoned up but misaligned by one.

"Eric you can't just show up like that and choke my freakin' boss out of nowhere!" He looked down at her, bemused by her sudden fury.

"I did not choke him. He's fine," Eric smiled. His good deed of the day. "It was a warning only."

"Ok, first off you _did_ choke him. I was there. Second off I can take care of myself. In fact I was doin' pretty good before you showed up." She stomped her foot in the dirt to emphasize her point.

"Yes, you were," Eric said simply. "The book was a smart choice."

She gaped at him, her expression flickering between outrage and amusement and disbelief.

"What are you doin' here anyway?" she asked, slightly deflated once her anger was not matched with anger.

"Well," he began, reaching forward to unbutton her jacket. She started to push him away before she realized he was fixing the alignment. "I wanted to show you someplace near here I thought you'd like."

Sookie scrunched up her mouth in debate. He could see her eyes flicker to her car then back to him in question.

"I'll return your car to you by morning. We will take mine." Eric opened the door for her, waiting to see if she would acquiesce. He smirked to himself when she did, though he could hear her mumble the word 'bossy' under her breath.

She was quiet on the drive, contemplative. Whenever he looked at her she was staring out the window away from him, or up at an angle to the night sky. He did little things to try to capture her attention, like fiddling with the radio, adjusting his seat, draping his arm over the console. He noticed she was no longer wearing her ring. He tried not to let that sting too much, reminding himself again that she'd asked for time. Nothing he did broke her from her reverie. Not until they turned off the paved road and onto a narrow, winding dirt two-track did she look to him in question, one eyebrow raised.

"It did just occur to me that I'm lettin' a vampire drive me out into the middle of the woods at night," she said playfully, with a hint of something more in her voice.

"Well we couldn't very well do it in the day, could we?" he replied, eyes on the road.

"Do you usually take a Corvette off-roading?"

"No. I would consider this an extenuating circumstance," he winked, pulling to a stop when the road hit its natural dead-end.

They stepped out into the forest. In the day it was a hunter's bounty, a series of winding footpaths designed to cross common deer and elk trails complete with lookouts and cubby holes nailed haphazardly into the trees. But the hunters only camped out at dawn and dusk; in the dead of night, the area was deserted. Beneath the canopy of trees it was too dark for Sookie to see clearly, which was not something Eric had anticipated but it was certainly an added benefit. He kept her close, moving slowly as they traversed their way through the underbrush, listening to the snap of twigs and branches beneath her feet. Whenever he came through this way, the animals went silent out of sheer intuition. There was a predator in their midst.

It wasn't a far walk to the lake. They came upon it abruptly, emerging from the thick wood onto its grassy shore. The crickets sung in the reeds, water striders gliding across the calm surface with grace. Eric took off his jacket, tossing it into the dirt, then leaned over to untie his shoes.

"Eric, it's freezing out," Sookie protested, her knees clacking together in the cold.

"The lake is warm," he explained. Perhaps she couldn't see the steam rising in wafts into the cool night air. "It is sourced by a hot spring."

She slipped out of her tennis shoes and stepped toward the water, tentatively dipping her toe. By this time Eric had already stripped to his underwear. Sookie glanced over at him and then away quickly. He was amused by her embarrassment, by her modesty. That was certainly a new trait, one that fell away with time and connection. Another part of her that he would wait out. He decided to spare her any further discomfort by keeping his underwear on. He dove into the water, his body cutting through the still surface with hardly a ripple to show for it.

He had a moment of doubt, watching her consider the scenario before her with uncertainty. The Sookie he knew would have joined in without hesitation. She loved all forms of water, from the vast sea to a trickling stream. He counted on this fundamental part of her, but perhaps he'd made a lofty bet. A gust of cold wind blew over the surface of the water and he could see even from a distance as her expression hardened with decision. She unbuttoned her jacket and slipped out of her dress, wearing nothing but a thin bra and panties. His mouth cloaked beneath the water, he smiled.

She swam over to him, panting, her breath as steamy as the water's surface. Her blonde hair collected in strings, strands sticking to her face. Rosy cheeks, sticky eyelashes, lips the color of blood. He reached out to her and she let him, her smile exultant and carefree.

"I love the water," she breathed, reaching her arms and legs out to float, the water lapping at her semi-exposed skin.

"I know," he said seriously, attempting to impress upon her the importance of his knowledge. That he knew her. That he would always know her, even if she currently did not know him. A chain around her neck that he hadn't noticed before glinted, catching the light of the stars above and shining in the opaque liquid. It was long, narrow, delicate, landing just below her breasts. It was the wedding ring, the golden band nearly floating above her bare skin, dangling from the chain, hidden near her heart.

He clutched her abruptly and without forethought, her surprised eyes wide and shocking blue.

"Eric, wh–" she began but was unable to finish as his lips covered hers with abandon. He held her to him, suddenly at a loss for how to get closer, her wet skin sliding against his own. She was warmer than the water, glowing beneath his hands, her lips soft but insistent, returning his passion with her own. It was so unexpected that he had the sudden urge to sink his fangs into her skin, to bathe in her blood while she watched on with a smile. He was grateful, then, for his thousand years of learned restraint, the ongoing fight against his desire to consume.

She pulled away too soon for his liking, her breath coming in quick gasps, her lips swollen and her cheeks flushed. He pressed his palm to her chest, feeling the comforting bounce of her heartbeat, lifting the ring and sucking it into his mouth as she watched. She surprised him then by kissing him once more, the band trapped between them, the metallic taste mingling on their lips, clacking on their teeth.

"Will you tell me about us?" she asked against his skin, her fingers interlocked behind his neck as he held them both afloat.

"Yes," he answered, having waited for this question. "Anything you would like to know."

She hesitated, seeming to contemplate this for a moment.

"When did we last see each other?" she finally asked, her voice hesitant.

He swallowed, thinking back to that night in Portland, the words with which they sparred, the venom they spat. How it felt, to him, like any other fight. Perhaps more volatile but still manageable. Solvable. Not irrevocable. And yet, the opposite came to pass. He'd been staring down the barrel of a gun and he hadn't even known it, he'd taken the bullet then waited to feel the pain.

"Anything else?" he tried for a small smile, pulling them over to the pebbly grass where they could sit half-submerged in the warm water.

She rested her head against his shoulder, her body tucked against him as he looked down upon her. He felt himself to be somewhere outside of his skin, gazing at the scene before him with bewilderment, beholding the impossibility of the moment in its most abstract sense. That they would find their way back to each other was always inevitable to him, even if that reunion only occurred in his mind in its darkest recesses, during his deepest slumbers.

"Something good," she requested instead, sensing his unease. He plucked at their broken bond, a gut response, feeling the reverberating twang of a string without its anchor. To compensate, he pulled her closer, gathering her beneath his arm, her soft breath ghosting over his naked chest.

"Something good…" he trailed off, contemplative. There were a thousand things he could choose from, but he reached for one similar to the present, a taste of history repeated. "I can tell you of the night I proposed. We'd just swum like today, but it was the ocean. The sea."

She nodded beneath him, prompting him to continue.

He took a deep breath, reliving the moment.

"Your skin tasted like salt…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all, here's your spoonful of sugar to make the medicine go down! anyway i gave in and i'm doing a TB rewatch (seasons 1 - 4) and can i say season 2 episode 9 "i will rise up" is one of the best written episodes of TV i've ever seen. shout out to Nancy Oliver. the rooftop scene/Godric's death is such a prime example of taking a barely-there moment in the book and turning it into something so much more. they grapple with life, with God, with guilt and remorse and anger and forgiveness all in the most concise, beautiful dialogue to grace TV. chef's kiss


	11. Nature and Nurture

****

**Barcelona, 1550**

Sookie ran through the narrow, winding streets, racing to get back to the wine cellar before the sun could set. The other fairies were coming and Eric had to know he couldn't leave ground under any circumstances. It would not be the news he was wanting, having already stayed underground for the better part of two weeks without any access to new blood. She pushed open the double doors into a walled garden, dropping down a series of stone steps until the ancient wood and metal structure of a door stood before her.

She rapped three times, their signal, and the door creaked open a crack, a shaft of dying light dancing across the stone within. She slipped inside, closing the door with a resounding thud. Eric had already lit the candles, scattered as they were throughout the space haphazardly. The air smelled pungently of aged wine, dried grapes, dust and mildew. Shelves upon shelves of bottles from all over the world cluttered the darkened room, a storage case they'd emptied out acting as a coffin near the back wall.

"We can go up?" Eric asked hopefully. He looked sallow and he had the bleeds, red blood dripping from both his ears. She wondered if he'd slept at all.

"No," she sighed. "They're very close. We have to stay."

He darted to her, his hands cradling her face.

"It is okay, it is fine," he said soothingly, punctuating each word with a kiss, first to her forehead, then to her closed eyelids, then to her lips.

There was a knock on the door, interrupting their momentary sanctuary with its abruptness. Sookie reached out with her mind, sensing the thoughts of an older male, his concern as to why his cellar was suddenly locked. That, combined with Sookie's immediate awareness that the other fairies were closing in fast, threw her off balance. She clutched his forearms, her eyes darting back and forth between Eric and their only exit.

Eric moved to action, whipping around Sookie and to the door, pulling the human inside and glamouring him, his lips speaking quickly, quietly, a seductive whisper in the corner.

"Go now," Sookie hissed, the warmth in her chest spreading as her kin arrived, nearing the walled garden. They must have heard something, sensed something. They were not passing her spot by. Eric did not have to be asked twice. In an instant he was gone, up into the sky and away. Sookie took a deep breath, steeling herself for her performance. She ran outside, stumbling up the steps for added effect, her fingers trembling, shooting sparks.

"Sookie, what is it? What did you find?" Hadley asked, her blonde hair alight, floating as if under static shock, her cheeks red, eyes focused, the seductive thrill of the hunt. Two other fairies stood behind her, their weapons sheathed but their attention highly aware, casting nervous glances into the darkness of the garden.

"A glamoured human. Down there. A cleared out box that could have been used as a coffin. He is gone now, we must have just missed him." Sookie was wheezing, she couldn't get enough air into her lungs. The three fairies pushed past her, descending into the recently-vacated wine cellar. Sookie cast one long look up into the sky, sending Eric an urgent warning through their bond before following. Stay away.

They cleared the place with force. Wine bottles shattered, merlot bleeding over the stone, thick and heavy, settling in the cracks and glistening like veins. They killed the human. That was policy: no loose ends. Sookie staged him beneath a fallen shelf, his body half-obscured. An accident, a clumsy mistake, an early end for a vintner in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"We need to spread out," Hadley ordered. "He cannot have gone far."

"I intend to leave the city and fan out into the countryside," Sookie said, her eyes drifting to the stars of their own accord.

"Hey," Hadley said softly, pulling her to the side. "Are you okay? Did you see him? You look shaken."

"No." Sookie swallowed. "Sorry, no, I am fine."

"Do you need rest? Niall said you may need more as half-breed."

Sookie's gut response was frustration; she hated being viewed as the weakest link, especially by her counterparts. Then, she decided to change strategy. She would capitalize on her weakness, use it to her advantage.

"Perhaps. I will rest here and let you know if I have any leads."

Hadley pulled her into a hug, surprising her with the warmth in it. It wasn't often she was embraced by another creature whose temperature ran hot.

"Be safe," Hadley implored, leaving her alone outside of the ruined wine cellar. She sighed, taking off in the opposite direction, following the pulse of her bond as she lingered in the shadows, ducking under thresholds and weaving through back alleys. When she felt the distance between her and the other fairies great enough, she yanked on her bond with Eric, a strong tug to direct him to land.

He appeared before her, scooping her up and into the air until they were high above the buildings, the roofs so close and uniform that, from a distance, they looked to be stapled together as one. Eric flew at a steady rate, the direction chosen simply by the way the wind blew. He continued on until the dark sky began to lighten, until the black turned a deep, murky blue. They were far out into the countryside, the land of lords and serfs, small communities nestled into a woven patchwork of farms and fields. Eric needed to go to ground and he needed it quickly.

They came upon a wooden cabin, a family of four slowly awakening, two adults and two childrens based on Sookie's quick delve into their minds. Eric dropped abruptly, Sookie jolting in his arms. He was weak from lack of feeding and the night spent in the sky. Then, they began their storied routine.

First, Sookie knocked on the door, the wary father parting the opening just a hair. When seeing her alone, he opened it wider, ushering her inside. Then came Eric, capturing the man's friendly gaze in his own, forcing him to succumb, glamouring him into submission. The mother and her two young children sat huddled around a small table, staring at their unexpected guests with confusion and concern. Sookie convinced the adults and the elder child to leave immediately, wary of Eric's looming presence as he covered the only window with bedding.

The younger child, though, would not budge. He was around five or six with a shock of red hair, freckles, and a pout. He would not follow his pleading mother, he would not listen to Sookie's broken language. He held himself fast to the seat. Eric came over, his face impassive as he gazed at the child. Sookie could see the longing in his eyes, the thirst, how soon he would be overcome by it. Eric's fangs dropped, his eyes dark as he stalked toward the child who now sat shocked to stillness.

"Eric," Sookie murmured in warning.

"This is my nature," Eric growled, in his chest a rumble growing.

"Eric," she said again, harsher and threatening, her hands emitting a yellow glow.

The young boy chose that moment to act, stumbling off his chair and running between the two of them. Eric's body tensed to pounce, his back curved and his hands in tight claws. It was the worst thing a human could do: to run away from a thirsty vampire. Sookie grabbed Eric from behind, wrapping her hands around his waist, pressing her face between his shoulder blades.

Eric did not move. She could feel his need, his hunger, his pain, his weakness. She could feel all of it as her own, yet it was not her own. It was he who needed to overcome himself, night after night, more so when things got difficult, when morals took a backseat to survival. Despite the effort, despite instinct, despite everything all at once, he did not move.

Together, they watched as the boy slipped out the door until they were finally left alone, safe at last from the coming light.

**Scandinavia, 955**

Sookie was careful to only come at night.

She found a village nearby, sparsely populated yet familiar, so alike all of the other settlements in the area. It was relatively safe, nestled deep within the boundaries of the forest, an outcropping of huts in a willowy field, buffeted by wind and covered in snow. The winter was harsher this year than the last, the roofs blanketed by feet of white powder, the excavation of trails dug daily, burning through firewood faster than it could be collected. It was hard work, helping to maintain the family she sheltered with, but it was necessary work. The short days were spent gathering resources and doing manual labor, the long nights were spent with Eric.

Each time she visited she was forced to forge a new path, traversing her way through the snowy woods by starlight, using her power only in its densest patches. Thankfully, the abandoned smattering of structures was close by, less than an hour as the crow flies and, if the weather permitted, she made relatively good time.

For the first few months he was able to leave the grave when she arrived. He'd crawl out, his arms and legs thin and covered in a layer of dirt so thick it looked like fabric, thrusting his chest over the side and out of the hole. She brought supplies in a sack over her shoulder: a blanket, cloaked in the scent of another human, cloth to sit on, firewood for the dilapidated hearth. He rarely spoke, choosing instead to huddle close to her as she stoked the dying embers of the fire, the flames a flickering dance on his skin, the warmth reflecting outward instead of soaking in.

It was difficult for Sookie to watch the decay. How each and every night she arrived he was a little bit worse, the changes so subtle they were hard to notice at first, though they accumulated to the emaciated corpse she saw before her. One night, she brought a bucket, filling it with snow and melting it to liquid atop the fire. With a ragged cloth, she cleaned his body as he watched, a nurse to a terminal patient. She'd hoped the removal of the dirt would improve his character, would make him feel more human. The opposite proved to be true. With every swipe she revealed another atrocity, ribs protruding through thin skin, inflamed cuts and scrapes that would never heal, chapped lips and sunken eyes orbiting in their sockets.

He was decomposing as all dead should. While he did so, she spoke.

First, it was of her travels. Where she'd been and what she'd learned while there. The cities, the towns, the people, the wars, the battle, the loves, the hates, the spirits, the ghosts. Then she spoke of herself, her family, her world. She had no qualms telling her secrets to him, no desire to hold anything back for fear of retribution or retaliation. There was an ethereal quality to their interactions, like she was talking not to another being but simply to herself, a diary that listened. Occasionally, she would feel him nod or hear him moan or grunt, something to signify his presence. Most often it was the shifting of his face in her lap, the subtle tightening of his fingers that reminded her of his coherence, of his need for her to continue.

When he stopped coming out of his grave she knew that it was the beginning of the end. Soon, he would not be able to even hint at his own existence. She cursed the being that had done this to him but saved her anger, buried it deep down until her own departure lest she agitate his fragile state. Her walks back to the village in early morning were righteous with fury, her hands glowing bright with the need to cause harm, to seek revenge. His world, shrunken down to the size of a grave, a vision only of shades of brown, dying. She'd never before wanted to kill, never before wanted to take the life of another being supernatural or otherwise. But this pushed her beyond what she expected of herself. Night after night, day after day, her want grew.

There must be vengeance.

The snow melted. Spring appeared. Flowers bloomed. The north was awash in beauty, dripping in color, abundant with life. And still she sought out death, drawn to Eric in his grave, the black stain on the season. She felt a call inside her, the reminder that she was due back in her own world; that she was overdue, in fact. How she was meant to part with Eric in his time of greatest need, she didn't know. It was an impossible feat she could not execute.

Night grew shorter, their time together less and less. Slipping into his grave, dragging his head into her lap, wondering if he even knew she was there. It all leaked into one endless moment, the emptiness blending yesterday into today into tomorrow. Still, in defiance, the call grew stronger. The call to leave did not care about her need to stay.

She ran her fingers through his matted hair, brushing her thumb over the line of his nose, his protruding cheekbones, the inhuman stillness of his chest.

"I have to go soon," she confessed in a whisper though there were none around to overhear.

She felt a twitch within him. Barely there, but the first movement she'd noticed in weeks. A tightening of his muscles and a clenching of his eyes.

"It won't be for long, likely only a few months. I have to go back to my grandfather so he knows that all is well. He won't let me come back here otherwise," she tried to explain. There were rules in place. Rules with consequences. He could close this world to her forever on a whim. She couldn't take that risk.

Eric was silent and still once more, as if she were talking to an inanimate object not a sentient being.

"I'll come back," she reassured him, leaning down to whisper into his ear. Up so close to his face, she could see the strain as his lips turned down, parting slightly, a barely-there rumble deep within his chest. She realized he was trying to speak and curved further, hovering above his mouth to catch any sound.

"Please don't go," he exhaled, his lips sticking together on the consonants, dried skin interlocking like glue. Her heart clenched and she lay down beside him, wrapping her arms around his thin body, nestling into the dirt and mud of the grave. She remembered the last time she was with him like this, listening to the sound of his slow heartbeat, the last thumps before he met immortality. She couldn't reassure him but she could distract them both.

"Did I ever tell you the story of the prince who waited for his princess?" she asked, not pausing for a response, knowing she wouldn't receive one. It was a story she'd told only once before, a tale she'd woven on the spot for a young girl named Ingrid, her cheeks covered with the ash of a fire, her hair as white as the full moon.

x

Thankfully, she was able to return quickly. Only a few months had passed, the heat of summer tapering off into the cooler temperatures of fall. Still, she worried she'd been gone for too much time. She didn't know how long vampires could last without blood, but the rate at which Eric had been shutting down physically wasn't doing much for her confidence. The night fell quickly and she traipsed her way along the now well-worn path from the village to his hut.

The ever-changing, ever-growing forest showed a sharp contrast to the stagnancy of the broken down enclosure. Though the tall grass encroached at its base, the structure as a whole looked frozen in time, impossibly old yet brand new simultaneously. She could sense his void inside, a rush of relief in her bones in response, but it was so weak it crackled like a radio going in and out of frequency.

She hated what she found. He was there, of course. Laying in the grave, curled up on his side, chin tucked into chest into knees into arms into legs, a compact and protected ball of limbs. He was one with the earth, the dirt from the sidings crumbling onto his body, gnarled roots reaching toward his skin like aged fingers, bugs and worms crawling through his nooks and crannies. She dropped into the grave, using her hands to clear away the dirt and debris and critters as best she could, though it all felt so permanent, somehow, like his fate was assigned to the ground.

Most would be repulsed by her actions. They would consider her a necrophiliac, pining over a corpse, loving the dead. But she could sense the life within him, the anchor to chain herself to, the grappling point at which to hold on. She unraveled her blanket and draped it over his body; a futile effort but an urge she could not deny. She gathered him to her as best she could, her chest pressed to his back, feeling every single notch in his spine against her ribs, her hands atop his where they curled up before him. He did not respond and it was terrifying.

Her tears came as a surprise, already halfway through before she noticed they'd started. They dropped sideways down her face, over the bridge of her nose and cheek, planting a seed of salt into the dirt. She sniffed, clenching her eyes shut, throwing caution to the wind, reprioritizing care over her own safety, letting herself play a dangerous game, her greatest mistake yet: drifting off to sleep.

"Den som vandrar i norr." The voice awoke her: it was slow, calculating, youthful. She recognized it. _The one who roams the North_ , he'd said. There was awe there, genuine curiosity bordering on shock.

She squinted upwards, the angle foreign and confusing to her, forgetting for a moment that she lay in the grave. She'd never made a fire, focusing instead on Eric. Because of this, she could only see the silhouette of the body above her, backlit as he was by the distant light of the moon.

"Do you remember me?" he asked, leaning down to her. His face came into focus, his boyish charm, the tribal tattoos across his chest and arms, blood already on his lips.

"Yes," she breathed. "Do you remember me?"

He smiled.

"Of course."

She propped herself up, emerging from beneath the blanket and climbing out of the grave, away from Eric.

"Did you do this to him?" she asked, brave but reckless, a demand from someone with nothing left to lose.

"You must break a wild horse," he said solemnly, "or he will not know his Master."

"You disgust me," Sookie spat.

"You entice me," he shot back, just as angrily. "You tempt me. You tease me. You arouse me. You drive me mad."

"What do you want?" she asked desperately.

"Your blood," he said simply. "Your life. The sun. The daylight. The ability to grow old. Peace. Humanity. The feel of warmth on my skin for the first time in a thousand years." He was perversely poetic, his words cold and heartless yet wanting and true at the same time.

"We can make a deal. Fix him and you can have me." She offered herself up before she could think it through, before she weighed anything at all. It was the only item on his list that was truly attainable and that fact was not lost on either of them. She could see the surprise on his face, the intrigue. He shook his head.

"You would trade yourself for a demon of the night?" he asked, his head tilted in curiosity. "I have never heard of this."

"Can you fix him?" she answered his question with a question.

He nodded, suddenly contemplative.

"I can." He jumped into the grave, lithe and graceful.

Beneath her worry, Sookie buried her desire for revenge. She held it deep within her, locked away like a loaded gun in a safe ready to be unleashed but only when the time was right.

"You know," he said, thoughtful and dreamy, "I must thank you. He is a great warrior. You drew me to him. I am in your debt in that regard. Without you he would be just another dead Viking. A true waste."

Sookie indulged him, staying silent as he spoke.

"So I will give you a choice. You can leave now. He will remain in his grave until I determine otherwise. Or you can stay and I will unleash him. But be warned, he is vampire. He cannot and will not betray his nature." He turned to her, his fangs suddenly down, his lips quirked up at the corners in a small smile. "No matter your… history together. You will die."

"I am already prepared to die," Sookie said, her hands beginning to glow. She may die, but she would take him down with her. Of that she was certain. He glanced at her palms, his brows quirked in amusement.

"So you are."

He tore his eyes away from her, crouching down next to Eric, close enough to whisper in his ear. Still, she heard every word, as she was sure was his intention.

"You may now bite, you may now drink. As your maker, I command it."

A snarling growl broke through the silence. Eric rose like the possessed, a terrifying figure, his hands grasping the ground, clawing at it, his teeth glistening, his eyes black and without depth. He stared at her like an animal first scenting its prey: pure, unadulterated focus. She stepped back, pressing herself into the wall. She could blast him but there was no guarantee he would survive the attack and then it would all be for naught. From her peripheral vision she could see the boy vampire as he watched Eric with joy, with a father's pride.

Eric pushed toward her slowly; a withered, broken thing. It was a pitiful excuse for an attack, the way his legs dragged behind him, his forearms carrying him across the dusty, dirty floor. She knelt to his level, creeping toward him instead of away, offering herself up instead of hiding. She caught a flicker of confusion in his eye, of uncertainty. But it disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by a fathomless hunger, fueled by the slow inhale through his nostrils. His parched lips flared, his fangs trembled before dropping almost as if they were unwilling or unable.

He closed the remaining gap between them in an instant, his bony body crushing hers beneath its weight, his hands on her shoulders holding her down. Dirt fell from his hair in a cloud, his unseeing eyes and pained features hovering just above her own.

"I trust you," she whispered though she knew he could not hear it.

His fangs sunk into her neck abruptly, sloppily, half of the blood slipping down her neck to the floor beneath them. She felt the vibration of his chest, the exultant exhale, the moan of satisfaction. He dragged himself up her body, resting himself upon her more fully until it was hard for her to breathe. She clutched his chest to her, his ribs sticking out beneath her fingers, pulling instead of pushing, holding instead of fleeing. She caressed him as he drank from her, long and heady pulls that felt never-ending. Her vision spotted in little flashes, looking so similar to the night sky that she smiled.

A void in the distance drifted closer: the other vampire, called forth by the scent of her blood, gazing hungrily at them both, triumphant. She let her eyes drift closed, called, as she was, to the peace it guaranteed. She wondered then what death felt like and if she was in its grasp, how cruel it was that there was nothing to compare it to. How there was still a guess in its finality, how the precipice of the cliff was disguised in shadow.

How we are all virgins when it comes to departing this world, foreigners to the sensation of meeting the great unknown for the very first time. We fear the act itself but perhaps it is not so monumental after all.

She did not expect her eyes to open once more. And yet, they did. It was hazy at first, but she was still there. Still on the ground, though Eric's body was no longer on top of her own. The wound on her neck was sticky and slowing, little individual drops of blood falling onto the dirt in rhythm with her heartbeat. Eric was convulsing beside her, taking huge lungfuls of air like a man saved from drowning. He was still skinny and weak, but he was moving. He was alive.

It took a moment before she noticed the other vampire, nearly forgetting him to be in the room with them at all. He stood above them both and he looked shockingly human. It was the openness with which he carried himself, the stunned surprise of his face. He reached over, his fingertips brushing along Sookie's neck, dipping into the blood. He raised his fingers to his mouth and licked it off, his eyes closed, his shoulders unleashing a shudder.

"Just as I imagined," he murmured. "Though I do not understand what I behold."

Sookie saw her opportunity and she took it. His moment of uncertainty, his lapse in preparation. She summoned the remaining anger in her body and concentrated it within her, throwing her hands out and blasting him through the wall of the hut and out into the night air. She pushed herself up, leaving Eric behind her, rushing out into the field, her mind garbled yet focused. Now she was the predator and he the prey.

He lay in the grass, tall stalks weaving around his body. He looked peaceful, as if sleeping through a dream. She looked down upon him, imagining him in his grave, starving, emaciated, waiting for death to take him night after night after night. She boiled with rage, overflowed with it, was fueled by it. The anger inside her was like venom coursing through her veins, an unstoppable transformation that needed release.

Her palms glowed hot, yellow then orange then red. She aimed at his neck. It would take only one shot with this amount of power, with this amount of focus. And she would do it. She would kill him. Of that she was sure. The wind blew angrily, whipping her dress, her hair, the long, long grass. A tumult asking for destruction. Begging for it.

Eric came from nowhere, throwing himself atop the boy, his chest still heaving though he had no need to breathe. There was life in his eyes. She could see it: the shining, crystalline blue.

"Move," she cried, her voice unsteady, her vision blurring with tears. She felt as though she may collapse, the weight of the world was suddenly so heavy.

"Sookie," he rasped, broken and hoarse. "Please."

"He is a killer," she growled.

"Yes," Eric said. "But you are not."

Her lip trembled, frustration causing the light she held to glow white hot. She dropped to her knees, the light fading as she fed the power back into the earth, the grass around them glowing vibrantly green like they were beneath midday sun in Spring. Eric pushed himself up off of the other vampire, still unconscious as he was. He wrapped her in his arms and it was like being held by a skeleton, like being consoled by a corpse. And yet she knew, without a doubt, that she was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alan ball's greatest talent was in hiring the exemplary female writers that wrote the best, most thought-provoking episodes of his show. y'all - thank you so much for your intelligent and kind comments. i appreciate every one. stay healthy x


	12. Lock and Key

**Louisiana, 2008**

"Hey Arlene, hey René," Sookie greeted as she passed them by, carrying a stack of menus to the family who'd just slid into the corner booth.

"Heya, Sook," Arlene called, weaving through the crowd to the employee's only section in the back to clock in and hang up her jacket and purse. René, Arlene's boyfriend, gave her a quick nod before seating himself at the bar, already crowded even though it was still early afternoon. The high school's homecoming football game was that night and many wanted a head start before the official festivities began out on the field. Sookie was grateful to be on midday shift. Merlotte's tended to be a very popular spot to spend post-game, too. Win or lose.

She spent the last hour of her scheduled time helping Arlene set up for the dinner rush, wiping down tables, filling condiment bottles, checking the taps. She kept an eye out the window for the duration: with the coming winter, the sun was setting earlier and earlier. Absentmindedly, she clutched the wedding ring dangling beneath her uniform, pressed tightly to her chest. She remembered Eric's response when he'd found it. The wonder and gratitude in his eyes. She wondered if Eric would come by unexpectedly like he had the weekend prior. He always knew when she wasn't working nights even though she'd never explicitly told him her schedule.

"You seein' Eric tonight?" Arlene asked with a smirk, almost like she could hear Sookie's thoughts and not the other way around. Sookie snapped out of her faraway place.

"Not sure," Sookie blushed, suddenly very focused on the menus she was cleaning. "He tends to just show up."

"I wouldn't mind that tall drink of water showin' up on my doorstep," Arlene smiled ruefully. Then she glanced over her shoulder toward the bar, her voice dropping lower. "But, Sook? I still think you ought to be careful."

"With Eric?" She'd already heard this exact speech from Sam and it had earned him a resounding wallop with a particularly heavy book. The last thing she wanted was to hear it again from Arlene. But she had to remind herself that they only had her best interest at heart. Plus, her world had changed on its axis in only a few short weeks. She couldn't expect everyone else's to have done the same. "You don't have to worry about that, Arlene."

"I figured, but René was sayin' last night that, where he came from, loads of girls were disappearin' and they all had bite marks. And don't forget Maudette and Dawn, they had 'em too," she was whispering now, almost conspiratorial.

"That was coincidence," Sookie said quickly, though she felt less sure than before. In all honesty, she _had_ forgotten Maudette and Dawn. Their murders practically disappeared from her radar when Eric entered her life, even though they were the entire reason she was at Fangtasia in the first place. She felt a rush of shame, then. She hadn't even been listening. She hadn't even been _trying_. Those poor girls were dead and she was all wrapped up in herself.

"You're probably right," Arlene said, glancing at the clock. "You're all good, Sook. I've got it from here."

"Thanks, hon," Sookie smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. She waved at Sam from across the bar, slipping out the back door and into the employee lot. The sun was low, the nights growing longer and deeper. She was eager to get home, her mind preoccupied not with Eric but with Maudette. With Dawn. The unsolved murders ate at her immediately and abruptly. What if more murders were coming? Who was next?

The engine clicked when she turned the key in the ignition. She sighed, trying again. Three more clicks. Nothing. Her palm slammed down on the steering wheel in frustration. Her Honda was on its last legs, she knew it, but that didn't mean she could afford getting it fixed. And it definitely didn't mean she could afford a new car.

"Great, just great," she grumbled, popping the hood and gazing at the machinery as if she understood any of it. Jason was always the mechanical one. This was simply not her wheelhouse.

"You need some help, Sook?"

Sookie jumped, startled.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare ya," René said, dropping the cigarette he'd been smoking and tamping it out with his cowboy boot. His Cajun accent wrapped around the vowels like a warm hug, his sauntering gait just as seductive. He smiled genially, approaching the Honda.

"You just surprised me is all," Sookie said, a little breathless. "Hey, you know anythin' about cars?"

René braced his hands on the edge of the hood, his brow furrowed as he examined the engine much in the same way Sookie just had.

"Afraid not. Don't tell Arlene," he winked. "Want me to give ya a ride home, call a mechanic?"

"Oh, are you sure it's not too much trouble?"

"Nah, 'course not," René answered, "Won't take more'n half an hour. I'm waitin' out Arlene's shift anyway."

"Thanks, René, I really appreciate it," she said as they walked together to his pick-up. Arlene's makeup bag still sat on the passenger's seat along with a few McDonald's wrappers. A little beaded figurine dangled from the rearview mirror. She reached up to touch it, the vibrant string and plastic jangling as they drove over bumps in the road. It almost looked like a voodoo doll.

"Got that down in New Orleans," René supplied, glancing at the object she was examining. "It's meant to ward away and protect ya from evil spirits. The livin' dead."

"The livin' dead?" Sookie asked, confused.

"Y'know. Ghosts, zombies. Vampires."

He glanced at her quickly, then back to the road.

"Speakin' of vampires," he said, nearly casual, "Arlene tells me you been bringin' one to Merlotte's during her shifts."

Sookie's lips pursed and she turned more fully toward René. She noticed the way his hands gripped the steering wheel, so tightly his knuckles were white. The clench of his jaw, its twitch. The creases outside of his eyes, his studious, intense focus on the road before him. With her mind, she pushed. There was a fizz, a crackle, almost like static electricity. A mantra, repeated in his head, over and over and over.

_Don't think about it don't think about it don't think about it_

He knew she was telepathic.

"That's just Eric," she grinned with feigned friendliness. "He doesn't hurt no one."

Lie.

"Of course," René said as they pulled up Sookie's drive.

_Bringin' a vampire to the bar Arlene's shift filthy fangbanger don't think about it_

"Thanks again for the ride." Sookie used her biggest, brightest smile.

"Your gran home?" René asked abruptly, his gaze cast around the yard in an arc.

"She's volunteerin' at the church tonight," Sookie said, "Preppin' for tomorrow's service."

"Damn, I was hopin' for some of her famous sweet tea," René prompted, looking at her expectantly. She could see then that he would not take no for an answer. Smiling even brighter, she acquiesced.

"Let me get you some as thanks. Wait out here on the porch, would you? Gran would never forgive me if I let you into her home without cleanin' up first."

René nodded, sauntering over to the porch swing and settling himself down. The rusty chains creaked beneath his weight, the setting sun casting orange, red, and pink shafts of light on the old home. Sookie tried to look at ease, walking inside and shutting the door behind her slowly. From behind the closed front door, she listened.

His mind was a torment, more images than words. Scenes. Bloody. Girl after girl, fang bites on their necks and legs, dying. Dead. Bloody. Screaming. Naked. Strangled. Sookie blanched, recognizing the faces of Dawn and Maudette in the mix. But it wasn't just them. There were so many more. Sookie rushed to the kitchen, pulling the old phonebook down from its dusty shelf. Fingers trembling, she paged through until she found Fangtasia. She dialed quickly and listened to the endless ring, the reminder that the sun still hadn't set, that all vampires would be dead in their coffins until dark.

Sookie cursed, slamming the phone back down on the receiver. How long could she keep him out there before he got suspicious? She poured the tea into the glasses, frustrated at the light outside, how it seemed to linger longer than necessary, how each tendril of light waited before cresting the horizon.

"Sookie, you in there?" René's voice from the porch.

She decided to try one more time, entering the numbers quickly.

"Northman." A curt answer on the third ring.

"Eric, it's me," Sookie exhaled quickly, speaking as loudly as she dared.

"Sookie? What's wrong?" His concern was an urgent, alive thing.

"It's René–"

"Who?" he cut her off.

"I don't have time to explain. I think he means to hurt me or kill me? I don't know. He's at my house."

"Sookie?" René again. The creak of the front door opening.

"The sun's not set–" Eric's tinny voice in the speaker. René turned the corner to the kitchen, a small smile on his face. Sookie slammed the phone down, moving a step toward the tea hastily.

"Who you callin'?" René asked, taking the tea from Sookie.

"Just Gran," Sookie lied, "Lettin' her know you helped me home."

He hesitated for a moment, swallowing the tea thickly. She could see the bulge in his throat.

_This is my chance but her gran knows if the police ask don't want an innocent don't think about it_

"Just gotta use the restroom," Sookie said, turning on her heel and weaving through the hallways of her home. She knew Jason left a shotgun for emergencies behind the shed in the backyard. If she could just make it out there, perhaps she'd be able to defend herself. What she didn't anticipate was René's blatant distrust. He followed, slowly but surely. Sookie sped up, turning the corner sharply, darting past the bathroom and out the back door. René matched her stride until Sookie broke out into a run, the old tool shed awash with the dying light of the sunset. Sure enough, the shotgun lay haphazardly against a few two by fours just outside the door. She snatched it up and turned, but René was upon her then.

His thoughts were ferocious. Evil. Driven by anger and lust. He imagined her dead, her lifeless corpse laying alone in the dried leaves of Fall, lost in the forest, decomposing, unfound, discarded and forgotten.

He reached for the gun but she was faster, swinging wildly and without aim. Mercifully, she hit. Blood spurted from the wound on his jaw where the butt of the gun made contact. He staggered, reaching out again and grasping the weapon, yanking until it broke free from her arms. She'd exhausted her fight option, now she only had flight.

She ran into the woods, sprinting faster than she ever had in her life. It was darker within the trees, the distant light finally fading into blackness. She squinted, trying to find a spot she could hide out, somewhere she could take René by surprise. Lighter and more nimble than her pursuer, she found a fallen tree whose stump was cut in a crevice. Tucking herself into the natural hiding spot, she tried to quiet her breathing and her heart in order to listen. To the sounds of the forest, the snapping of twigs beneath him, the crunch of the underbrush, the thoughts in his mind. All of it blended together and, in her panic, seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Crouched down, the bare skin of her knees coated in thick mud, she froze. He was coming closer, she could feel it. Sense it. Hear it. It was so inevitable it was comedic, like she was writing out the ending to a story she'd already read a hundred times. She didn't want to die, not in this helpless fashion, so weak and pointless. Another victim to the violence of a madman, to the high-handed righteousness of the prejudiced, the deranged. It felt so random, so ridiculous. So unfair.

He stood before her immediately, his smile blindingly white in the darkness.

"Found you."

A warmth grew inside her. It was foreign, yet familiar. Like a distinct smell that unearths a long-forgotten memory or seeing a childhood friend all grown up. So present yet so new. She watched through his eyes as she transformed, her skin glowing from the inside, concentrating in her hands. She felt his fear, his confusion. He looked at her as though she weren't human, as though she, too, were an evil spirit, a living dead. His resolve firmed up, his drive to fulfill the destiny of her dead body.

He came toward her and she yelled, pushing with all her might, a light so bright it blinded her, a flash of lightning, the scene before her illuminated for a brief moment before lapsing into darkness once more.

René was gone. She blinked, staring out into the night. A distant moan, the squelch of leaves, movement trembling at the edge of her vision. She crawled toward him, exhausted, her body begging to collapse. He was alive, though barely. His shirt was scorched, burnt flecks like he'd fallen into a fire.

"René?" Her voice trembled. He flinched.

"Demon," he spat at her, "Evil witch."

He launched himself at her, his fingers closing around her throat, blocking her airway so abruptly she didn't even have the chance to gasp. She clawed at him, dragging her fingernails across his cheeks, digging into his arms. He held fast, little involuntary sounds breaking through her windpipe as he gasped and hissed, throwing his entire weight into it. She couldn't tell if her eyes were open or closed; the dark was the same either way.

The first inhale surprised her; the clean, cool taste of the air to her burning lungs. René was gone. She heard the sounds of torment. A ripping, a snarling, a tearing. A growl and a scream. The whump of a body hitting the forest floor, like a sack of dropped potatoes or a felled tree. Eric's face before her, blood on his mouth and chin, eyes bright with victory. His cold arms as he scooped her up, the feel of the wind, the sound of an owl's hoot.

"Sookie." She opened her eyes. She hadn't realized they'd closed. "Invite me in."

Eric stood, still holding her, just outside her front door. It was slightly ajar from René's earlier entrance but Eric could not pass through the threshold either way.

"Come in," she rasped. Her voice was gone, stolen from her by the choking hands of the dead.

He took control. She felt his arms slide from beneath her as he placed her on her bed. He disappeared for a moment–washing his hands, she realized–before returning, rooting through her dresser for a set of pajamas. He approached with deliberate slowness, each step taken with excruciating tenderness. It was a strong juxtaposition to the blood still on his lips and chin, his furrowed brow of concentration, his hair wild from the wind. He untied her shoes and took off her socks one by one. She let him unbutton her shorts, his hands pulling them off her legs, then her T-shirt and bra. She knew she was half naked before him but it did not matter, for all she saw was his care.

When she awoke it was still dark out. Her legs were tangled up in the sheets, a mess of blankets. She was disoriented, her throat dry, her temples dotted in sweat. It was like she was awakening from a nightmare, though she had no recollection of what she'd dreamt. Her room was empty but both the door and window were open. Her eyes searched the space, memories and moments coming back to her mind in sporadic pops, like flashes of light from a camera.

Eric was there when she'd fallen asleep. She remembered his arm curled around her, locking her in tight.

"Eric?" she whispered in question, her voice still a ghost of its former self.

He appeared in the doorway, his face cleaned up and wearing a new pair of clothes. Almost like she'd imagined the whole thing. She wished she had. He hovered there, standing halfway between her bedroom and the stairs, a cell phone clutched in his hands. She held out her arms to him, beckoning him toward her without reserve or question, wondering after the next move he would take. He lifted his phone to his ear, murmuring something quietly before snapping it shut and tucking it into his pocket.

He was upon her instantly, pulling her into his chest, his arms wrapped around her, his cheek pressed to the top of her head. He pulled back, his fingers trailing over the sides of her neck. Even the slightest touch made her wince.

"I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner," he said, his head tilting to the side, examining her, his expression forlorn.

"There was a flash like lightning," she rasped, her voice scratchy and breaking.

"Don't speak," Eric ordered, pressing his finger to her lips and leaving it there as his eyes skated over the blooming bruises on her neck. "He is dead now," he reassured her, though his voice held something more. Something wanton and regretful, like he wished he could kill him a second time over.

"Gran?" she asked, anxious.

"She's fine. She missed everything." He settled her back into the pillows, running his palms down her shoulders and arms. "Sleep."

She shook her head, protesting his demand. The last thing she wanted was to sleep, the last thing she needed was to be alone with her thoughts. He wasn't about to take no for an answer. She could see it on his face. So she took the action she knew he wouldn't turn down: she leaned forward and kissed him.

First his lips were frozen in surprise, then immediately malleable. His touch was feather light, afraid, handling her like a fragile, breakable, priceless artifact. She combatted the tentative nature with force, pulling him toward her with all of her strength, gripping his shirt and yanking. He allowed himself to be pulled, wrapping around her, two small thumps as his shoes dropped to the floor one after the other. She felt everything. The cotton of her pajamas brushing against her sensitive skin, the tremor of his eyelashes dancing across her cheek, his breath exhaling over her neck, his rough tongue at the base of her clavicle.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, his lips somewhere beneath her, his fingers ghosting up her shirt. She shook her head, her thoughts heady, a mess of feeling as his lips wrapped around her earlobe and tugged. He pressed the length of himself to her; there was simply so much of him, it was like being smothered in the most delicious way. His mouth opened, the tender touch replaced by something more feral, his eyes dilated, the blue nearly gone. His tongue dipped into her mouth then out, his fangs dropping effortlessly, nicking her lower lip.

He was across the room in an instant. She panted, cold with his absence, her hands still clenched in the sheets, legs parted for him.

"No," he said, speaking more to himself than to her, "No, this is a bad idea. You're injured."

Sookie simply looked at him. His confusion, his need, his restraint. It was so transparent that it was as if she felt the tumult inside him within her, too.

"Please." A soft beg, not to be denied.

His hesitation was negligible, it was overwhelmed so easily. He was back in her bed, hovering above her, his forearms framing her face. She pulled at his shirt, urging him to get rid of it, his hands catching hers to drag it up and off. Around his neck was a chain that matched hers, his wedding band the pendant. It dropped between them, free from the fabric, hovering centimeters above her skin. She grabbed it, threading it through her ring finger. It was much too large, the smooth metal warming with her touch.

She opened herself up to him, laid bare and waiting.

"Be gentle," she whispered as he unwrapped her, the same actions as earlier with opposite intent. His touch was so light she could barely feel it, like being caressed by only a suggestion of a man, like walking through thick fog, all-encompassing yet invisible.

Focus. She wanted to memorize everything. He was searching for something specific in her eyes, she could see it, but she didn't know how to give it to him. She didn't know what it was he wanted. His blonde hair was a mess, his angular face so close to hers it was hard to look at, perfection beneath a magnifying glass turned exponential. She felt rather than saw his pants come off, the jeans dropping to the floor with their other garments. He wasn't breathing and his eyes were open wide.

He pressed against her leg, a questioning insistence. She nearly bucked, ready for him, needing it more than anything in her dreamlike reality.

Slowly. Excruciatingly paced. One of his hands clenching her pillow, the other wrapped behind her neck, his thumb at her pulse point. She fit him and it was simple. A key to its lock, a hand to a glove. His exhale wooshed above her head. It made her shiver. For one long moment, he didn't move. Her hands reached up of their own accord, gripping his hair to drag his face back to hers, needing to read the emotion she found there, the second important connection.

There were a thousand words on his skin, a hundred phrases in his eyes. His nose brushed hers and her lip trembled. It was clear, then. What he wanted. He wanted her to remember. He wanted it more than anything. Her eyes clenched shut, breaking the connection, unable to give him what he desired most. It was perhaps the greatest failure of her life to date.

Outside, the sun began to coax its way up, the sky growing tentative with brightness, a knocking at the door, a signal for departure. He began to move, no longer wasting any time, tender but quick. Her breath came in gasps, her body wrapped around his wherever she could grip, wanting to feel him everywhere all at once. A small, desperate noise left his throat and he spilled himself inside her with a shiver.

"I love you," he whispered into her ear, flying out of her bedroom window towards the coming dawn without waiting to hear it said back.

**Portland, 1977**

Pam held the ring in her hand. She didn't freeze up. Pam wasn't the type of person that went into shock, neither when she was human nor after she was turned. Yet there she stood, stock still in the middle of her office at Ravenscroft, holding Sookie's wedding band, unable to move. A series of profanities ran through her mind, interrupted only by the ringing of a telephone.

They were still closed, but she could hear the growing crowd outside, lined up and waiting for a night of debauchery. She considered, for a brief moment, closing the club. After all, she didn't know how Eric was going to react. It could be dangerous for everyone in the vicinity. On the other hand, it may be better to stay open as Eric would be less likely to lash out in front of an audience.

Madeline transferred the call to Pam's office. She let it ring, strategizing. Perhaps her gut response had been right. Perhaps this was just another fight and Sookie would come running back to them–to him–like she always did, wearing her heart on her sleeve. And then Eric would take her back, like he always did, wearing his heart on his own. That was the best case scenario. The worst case scenario was that she was truly gone. And if that were the case, it wouldn't just be Eric who felt the loss. She would feel it, too.

Sookie was blood bonded to Eric just as Pam was bonded to Eric as her Maker. Pam could feel his turmoil the night prior, his anguish and regret. He and Sookie had surely fought; Sookie wasn't lying. She could feel him even now, the echoes of his panic, the anger, the tendrils of an imminent command wrapping around her.

Pam's second personal phone rang. The one only Eric knew, the one for emergencies.

"Fuck," Pam cursed, her hand hovering over it. She couldn't answer. This had to be done in person. Fuck Sookie for placing this responsibility on her. Fuck her for leaving this mess in her lap. Fuck her for breaking Eric's heart over and over and over. Pam wanted to hate Sookie. She wanted to hate her more than anything. She had a thousand reasons to do so. And yet, when she tried, all she pictured was the intense sadness in Sookie's eyes. The exhaustion, the desperation, the love. How she said she was trying to save Eric's life. How Pam believed her.

There was a small commotion outside. Eric had arrived. Pam calmed herself, returned to her most regal state. At that point, it was all she could do. There was no scenario in which the next few moments would end well. She tried to accept that.

Sure enough, Eric broke through the door in a fury. She could see Madeline's curious face over his shoulder; even she looked concerned, and that was not her forte.

"Where is she."

It wasn't a question, it was an order. Thankfully, Pam didn't know. Sookie hadn't told her.

"I don't know. She left."

"Stand up."

Pam stood, her hands clenched at her side. This was the other Eric. She recognized him, though it had been awhile since he showed his face. The dark, deadly, uncompromising Master that taught her her most ruthless lessons. That logic should triumph over emotion. That good and bad were human notions. That victory mattered above all else. That there was only survival or death.

"Where is she," he repeated.

"I don't know," she answered, trying to inject some force into her words. "You can command me to tell you the truth but I already am."

Eric snarled, his fangs snapping down at her aggression.

"Look, Eric…" she sighed, not knowing how to start.

"Tell me," he ordered.

"She told me to tell you that she doesn't love you anymore." Pam tried to keep her face stony even when Eric took an automatic step back like she'd punched him straight in the chest.

"You're lying," he accused.

"I'm not," she insisted.

"What else did she say?"

"She said not to follow her."

"This is idiotic." He moved to leave.

"Eric," she cried, remembering Sookie's warning. He would die if he followed, it would be over if he pursued her. "I'm not lying."

Eric turned on her, pushing her up against the wall, his fangs bared and at her neck. She felt his rage inside her, his fear. The outward aggression aimed at the closest thing he could control, which had always, always been her.

"You cannot stop me." It was a warning, deadly quiet. "I can feel her. She is still near."

"I know."

She stared into Eric's eyes until his humanity overshadowed his anger, trickling slowly, an hourglass of sand. He stepped back, tossing her an apologetic glance without a verbal affirmation. She could see his decision in the set of his shoulders. He would chase after her, he would die. Pam had one last weapon in her arsenal and she deployed it.

"She wanted you to have this," Pam said before he could leave, holding out Sookie's ring to him. A burnt offering resting in the palm of her hand.

He stared at it first in confusion, then shock, then disgust.

"No." Eric denied it immediately. "No, it was just another fight. That… no."

Pam had never seen her Master grasping for words before. He looked, suddenly, like he didn't know where he was. Like a boy separated from his mother, a fisherman lost at sea. Impossibly young, desperately forlorn. He looked to Pam in question but Pam didn't have the answers he desired. She didn't have any answers at all.

"I'm sorry," Pam offered. Eric cringed. Apology made it reality, it was giving up without the fight.

"She'll come back," Eric said, his eyes orbiting around the room, fingertips reaching out in an attempt to ground himself. "Right?"

Pam didn't respond.

"I have to…" he began, then trailed off.

Pam still held the ring out to him. He snatched it from her, then dropped it as if it were made of silver.

"I should…"

They watched as the band rolled then collapsed between them.

"I'm sorry," Pam tried again, placing a comforting hand on his forearm.

"Fuck you. You should've kept her here. You have to hold on to her, otherwise…"

He pushed Pam back, her body slamming into the row of metal cabinetry, drawers shooting open, paper falling gently to the ground. Pam's eyes shut on impact, defensive toward her Master's anger. When she dared open them back up, both Eric and the ring were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> went entirely rogue with a Pam POV here. don't get used to it we're sticking with Eric & Sookie most likely, i'm already juggling too many facets of this story to add more POVs lmao. the 1977 vignette follows sequentially from the one in chapter 8. thank you for your comments and stay healthy! x


	13. Unfathomable and Great

****

**Virginia, 1712**

Sookie counted over twenty ships in the harbor. Masts tall and reaching skyward, white sails flapping in the breeze, heavy anchors dropped into the rocky seabed below. Her journey across the Atlantic had been surprisingly simple; the unwarranted deaths were few and far between, the crew was efficient and expedient, and the weather held out for the majority of the trip. Even their first sight of land in the New World had been picturesque, the sun held aloft above the distant pines, the sky cloudless and clear.

There was a great energy of agitation aboard the ship, a rumbling excitement to disembark. Many were reuniting with family after years of separation, some were seeing the new land for the very first time. How Sookie desired to put herself in their shoes, to taste the air as if a first sip from a honeyed glass, to gaze upon the scene before her like a newborn babe. The awe in their eyes, the amazement. She was jealous, wanting to share that same level of emotion herself. She would capture it, hold it within her, protect its delicate fragility.

Instead, she let herself experience it through their thoughts. The toddler clutching his mother's skirt, his legs stumbling for land. The seaman thinking of his wife and their cabin nestled in deep wood. The family yearning to start anew, their hopes and dreams only a stencil sketch, the way they stared at the rough landscape before them in shock, never anticipating anything so wild and so free. Many years she'd spent in this realm and though she never grew tired of it, there were very few things left that could surprise into abject wonder.

They disembarked slowly, a wooden plank placed down to ease the connection between ship and dock. Sookie slipped through unnoticed and unafraid, weaving between bodies and luggage and foodstuffs effortlessly, blending into the harbor. A female traveler rarely went unattended, but Sookie was different. She gave off the subconscious aura of danger and strangeness, and though most other humans did not understand that, they did respect it. It was a blessing, a gift she did not take lightly.

Sookie spent the afternoon wandering the market stalls, marveling at how the settlement had grown since her last departure. Life bustled around her: traders and merchants bartered, children hit each other with sticks and shrieked, a horse whinnied as its master cracked the whip. This was a proper town with a pub and a boarding house and even a bakery. No longer was it a rough outpost, the last stop before the frontier. It was nearly unrecognizable. Humans progressed so quickly in their short time on Earth, a brave yet necessary feat.

Across the way, she spotted a heavy wooden door painted a deep red. A small sign hung down above it and she could see a fire glowing in the hearth inside through the smudged window. She crossed the dirt road, entering the lower floors of a hostel, a busty woman passing around steaming bowls of chowder to weary sailors. She found a quiet spot in the corner, easing into the shadows, accepting the food and eating it by the light of a candle, its wax crying a single tear.

The sun set outside and she felt him. She felt Eric. The thrum, finally attainable. A string pulled tight and plucked. Butterflies grew in her stomach, anticipation turned liquid. She'd needed to spend longer in Faerie than she would've liked. Her grandfather had wanted to know all about the New World and he wasn't appeased until she'd given every last detail she could provide. In a way, she was grateful. It gave him needed distraction from his two hundred year revenge plot. He was finally easing from his relentless pursuit of The Northman, calling off his scouts and hunters. Giving up, perhaps. Fairies weren't known to drop a grudge, but she wasn't about to bring it up to him. She would let sleeping dogs lie.

Silence. That was how she knew Eric had arrived. The quiet that befell the formerly rowdy room. The boisterous conversation, the slamming of the cups and mugs, even the clink of cutlery became muted. All eyes shot to his presence in the doorway, all became aware. It was something she never got used to, his aura of demand. Of authority. Half intoxication, half danger. He was exhilarating to look at, to even glance upon. He made hearts thrum and breaths quicken. And he didn't even care.

She watched him for a moment from her hiding place off to the side; his serious, expressionless face as his gaze scanned the room. The way his nostrils flared, scenting her. He wore drawstring trousers and muddy boots, his tan shirt open at the neckline and rolled up to his elbows. A functional, working man's attire. His hair was shorn and messy. He was not regal, he was not proud. Not manicured or well-kempt, as was becoming the fashion in society. He was a chaotic, seductive beauty, like a shooting star having just fallen to earth. Impossible to look away. Blink and you'll miss it.

He found her then, zeroing in on her presence. His largest, best smile erupted across his features like a wave breaking upon the shore. She had to bite her lip to keep from running toward him, her fingers digging into the wooden table at which she sat. Though he moved slowly before his audience, his long strides still carried him across the room in a matter of seconds. He scooped her up, her feet hovering above the ground as he cradled her to his chest. She felt the muscles of his arms wrap around her tightly, the insistent press of his cheek on the top of her head. He inhaled very slowly before setting her down. She felt dazed and off-kilter, consumed by his presence, a drug addict finally succumbing to another hit.

"What have you done to your hair?" She finally found her voice, reaching up to run her fingers through the spiky, inconsistent lengths. It was like he attacked himself with kitchen shears.

"It was too long, it got in the way. One of the humans did it for me."

She raised her eyebrow. Eric didn't cavort with the humans on their land. In fact, he usually avoided them at all costs.

"You don't like it?" He roughed up his hair with his palm, the blonde strands sticking out every which way.

"I can fix it when we are home," she prompted, nudging him to leave the public space. She wanted her time alone with him, no prying eyes, not after so long separated. Though her journey by sea had been relatively simple, she felt tired and wobbly on her legs, the undulations of the waves still lingering beneath her feet. He nodded, his cold hand encompassing hers, pulling her out onto the muddy street. It was dark enough that he didn't bother to find an inconspicuous manner in which to fly, he simply lifted her and sprung into the air. She barely felt the jolt.

As they flew, he told her stories of her time away. A fire that burnt through half of the main settlement, how it raged deep into the night. The family that purchased the plot of land nearest to theirs, wealthy Londoners thrust into the great unknown. Their struggle and their hardship. The Indian raids, how he'd had to kill two, their strange scent and taste, exotic and new. How he worked through the night, better to tend the wheat than to wander, how he lingered outside until the sun began to rise, until he felt the tickling burn beneath his skin. His first supernatural encounter in the New World, not another vampire but a shifter. A wanderer passing through, who could turn into both wolf and owl whenever he so chose.

The house was much the same as she remembered, the rolling hills of wheat cresting the horizon in the distance, stretches of dirt where the plowed ground lay fallow. He'd lit a fire, smoke drifting into the night sky above them in a steady plume. Eric set her down then growled lowly, a deep rumble within his chest.

"What is wrong?" she asked, sensing a presence inside their home. A human mind, simple and pure. Tender as if glamoured.

Sookie pushed open the door before Eric could stop her.

"Miss Sookie?" It was Anne, the young girl who helped work their land in the daytime with her father. She remembered her, though the girl now looked older than the image Sookie held in her mind. She'd aged, she'd become a woman. Pretty in an unaltered, untouched sort of way. Her blonde hair was tied back in a knot and her face was wide with surprise. "Sir?"

She addressed Eric. He stood behind Sookie, a towering presence. Through Anne's eyes Sookie could see the anger on his face. It radiated outward and burned hot.

"Is something the matter, Anne?" Sookie asked, wanting to comfort the girl. She looked fearful and shocked. Anne stood, the chair upon which she sat falling backward to the floor with a clatter.

"You should not be here," Eric cut in, a deep warning.

"Eric, she's frightened," Sookie scolded, reaching out to touch Anne's hand. Eric intercepted, pulling Sookie's hand back. "What are you doing?" she turned toward him, frustration leaking into her words.

"I didn't know you would be coming back Miss Sookie I'm so sorry I thought you were dead I'm sorry." Anne spoke quickly, all of her words blending together into one singular plea.

"You have nothing to fear," Sookie soothed, yanking her hand from Eric's. "We will not hurt you." She pulled the trembling girl into a hug. Sookie remembered her kindness and her patience, her hard work and good nature. Up close, Sookie could feel her curves, her supple form, how she'd matured into herself. It wasn't until Sookie's fingertips brushed the exposed skin at the back of her neck that she saw, heard, and felt all of Anne's thoughts as if they were her own.

They were muddled and incomplete, sparse plantings like the field outside. There were invisible portions, erased to black. But between the absence, there was truth. Eric's face close to Anne's, his eyes dilated dangerously. The feel of his fangs sinking into her neck, how sometimes it was pleasure but other times it was pure, uncompromising pain. His expressions, blurry as if underwater, the blank stoic look as he opened the door to her late at night and shuffled her back out early in the morning. How he told her things about Sookie, speaking in past tense as if she were dead, his eyes glazed and unfocused, staring into the middle distance. The apathetic stroke of his fingers, how he made her watch as he pleasured himself and dropped his fangs when she got too close. The taste of his skin, the coolness of his touch.

Sookie stepped back, extricating herself from the girl. Eric did not speak. Instead, he clutched Anne's upper arm and dragged her, stumbling, outside of the house. When he returned, Sookie still stood in the same spot, playing the memories on repeat in her mind, gazing at them from a distance, watching them play out like a fairytale.

"I will kill her," Eric said like it was an offering, a peace agreement.

"I will kill _you_ ," Sookie threatened, turning on him as an aggressor. She felt the heat rise in her hands, a rubber band pulled taut, a crackling urge to snap.

"Sookie–"

"You have betrayed me," she accused.

"No, you do not understand," he stuttered.

"I don't care to, leave me be," she turned, exiting their home and stomping out into the night.

"It's so easy for you, isn't it?" He appeared before her, stopping her in her tracks. "I'm the one who has to stay behind, don't you see?"

"I don't try to replace you," she hissed, weaving around him, a spark of electricity shooting from her fingers into the ground.

"You cannot be replaced, that is the entire problem," he groaned, in front of her again.

"Leave me be," she repeated, shooting him in the chest without true force. He stumbled backward slightly, fangs dropping. He stepped forward again.

"Without you there is no one. I have no one." His voice fell in volume but remained just as imploring. "It is... lonely."

She hesitated, her fury losing steam. He approached her cautiously, his arms raised in surrender.

"I need you near to me," he whispered, repeating the words once spoken so long ago. She remembered, brutally, that she'd left him then, too. "Or I am lost."

"I wish I didn't have to," she confessed, wrapping her arms around his waist. She felt him wind around her in response. "I only want to be here."

"I know," he murmured, smoothing her hair, twirling it in his fingers. "But you are here now."

They walked back to the house together, both of their aggression exhausted, Eric's arm draped over her shoulder, the weight a comforting, grounding heft. She often found herself overwhelmed by her love for Eric, by the pressure it entailed, the baggage it carried. How at every moment a simple coin toss separated them from either killing each other or burying themselves in each other's bodies. How it was in their nature from the very start. How it always felt like there was so much at stake. He held her so tightly it hurt, she pushed so hard it burned. That was their balance. And they returned to it, time and again, the snap of two magnets meeting, halves of the same whole.

Eric undressed her slowly, a thoughtful cadence. He wanted to make it last, she could see it on his face. The concentration, the respect. His lips caressed her, contorted her, the shock of them taking a tour of her body with deliberate attention. They didn't miss a single spot. His tongue flicked at the base of her neck, the inside of her elbow, a brush of teeth at her nipple, fang near her inner thigh. He knew what she liked and where she liked it, the press of his fingertips as they pushed down her soft belly, holding her in place as her thighs trembled and shook. The asymmetrical tips of his hair brushing against her sensitive skin, the suck of his lips as they tugged her most sensitive part. She cried out, panting, her chest flushed and hair in disarray.

"Eric," she breathed, catching her breath. He draped himself across her, all arms and legs and chest, digging his face into her neck. She tilted her head to the side, an invitation, an acceptance. His fangs barely pierced the surface, only releasing a slow trickle from two dots of growing blood. The rough texture of his tongue lapped at the path gravity took, traveling up from where the blood pooled in her clavicle to her neck, licking the wound closed. "Heal it," she murmured, wrapping her arms around his bicep to keep him close.

She heard the soft, quick exhale of air through his nose as he pricked his own finger, using his blood to heal her wound, soft circles rubbed into her flesh at the source. She turned her head back toward him, their faces side by side, a reflection in a mirror. She thought about what he'd said, his declaration out in the fields. His loneliness. She remembered Godric, their fraught but important companionship, a Maker to his Child. It had been many years since Godric's death. It shamed her to think that she'd never truly considered Eric's solitude, how his longing for Godric was not just mourning, but a bond that he'd never replaced.

"Have you ever thought about making a progeny?" Sookie asked, tracing the lines of his face with her fingertip. It was through those fingers that she felt his features harden.

"No," he said, slicing and quick.

"Why not?"

He sighed, turning onto his back until she gazed upon his perfect profile. The hard line of his jaw, the angular nose. His blue eyes stared at the ceiling.

"I could never be a Maker. It's too much responsibility."

"But it may help, perhaps you would enjoy…" she tried to reason.

"You wouldn't understand. You don't know what it would mean, how it felt to have that bond. And to lose it." He seemed to be speaking no longer to her but to himself, or a past version of himself. A warning to hold on, to not waste it.

"You're right, I don't know. But now that Godric is gone–"

"I do not wish to speak of him," he cut her off, turning away from her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, trailing kisses down his spine. "I won't bring it up again."

He relaxed under her touch, as he always did, his hand reaching back to grab hers, wrapping her arm around his large torso. He would need to go to ground soon, to the coffin they kept hidden beneath the house. But for now, she would hold him. She would keep him close. She would savor their reunion, so true to who they were, who they'd always been and would always be. She pressed her chest into his back until her heartbeat became his, until their breathing synchronized, until she finally drifted off to sleep.

****

**Leningrad, 1943**

"I despise the Russians," Pam growled, stomping her feet through the thick snow. It was so cold out that the topmost layer had frozen over, one solid inch of ice to break through in order to take every step. A bullet zinged past Eric's left ear, a sniper in the trees. He flew up, leaving Pam on the forest floor below, landing behind the German officer, his fangs sinking into his neck. The soldier was dead before he even knew Eric was there. Pam caught up to him, clucking her tongue against her teeth.

"We are Russians," Eric reminded her, spitting the dead man's blood into the snow. The Red Army uniform told the same story.

"For today," Pam grumbled, kicking the soldier with her boot. He slid along the ice, a trail of blood in one smooth streak, a brushstroke of paint from his neck.

"Don't tell me you would rather be German," Eric sighed, rooting through the corpse's pockets for anything of value. Nothing but a few family photos and a broken watch. Useless.

"I despise the Germans, too."

"What about Mozart?"

"He was Austrian," Pam corrected.

"Oh," Eric frowned, standing up once more.

They'd been wandering the forests outside of Leningrad for weeks, picking off soldiers during the siege as they came upon them. For all intents and purposes it was a veritable feast, plus it was far easier to stay cloaked amongst the countless Russians than it was to find glory on German soil as many of the other vampires they knew were wont to do. Eric was grateful that vampires couldn't get cold–he'd seen more men fall to the freezing temperatures than to a bullet, to die of starvation before even seeing the enemy. It was in this regard that Eric and Pam were thriving while the humans were failing. Blood was abundant and temperature did not matter when the body still hovered near 98.6. A fresh corpse was easy to find. It was only a shame that the malnourished tasted so bitter.

As if to combat his last thought, a glorious scent floated through the air. Milk and honey. Wheat. Sunshine. He inhaled deeply, ravaged by it. He knew it, plain as day. Fairy. His muscles clenched and he tested his bond experimentally. There was no response; it wasn't Sookie. Besides, it was far too potent. Pureblood. Exquisite.

Off to his side, Pam was experiencing the same thing only amplified tenfold. It was her first time smelling one, they were so rare to come by. Her eyes dilated and she disappeared, sprinting toward the source without hesitation. Eric cursed under his breath, chasing after. She was a new vampire but she was still fast, well-trained and focused. That, combined with Eric's natural response to run _away_ from the scent, gave her a bit of a head start. The closer they got the more saturated the air became. It was like swimming in lust, bathing in fine wine.

Pam was in his sights but so was the fairy, its back turned toward them, unsuspecting and idiotic. An embarrassment, to die so easily. He was about to call Pam back when the fairy spun, a surge of light he recognized shooting straight from his hands toward Pam. Eric shot up to the sky, worried the fairy had seen his face. Pam was just another vampire. Eric, though, had a reputation among their kind. The light hit Pam and she flew backward, landing in a pile of snow fifty feet away. The fairy's eyes scoured the sky, searching for him. He had seen Eric.

That was a problem. That meant damage control.

Eric felt his body collapse into combat stance, the instinctual attack style Godric taught him all those years before. He dropped into the snow behind the fairy, his fangs bared. The fairy also wore a Red Army uniform, his long hair tied back beneath a fur hat. He looked pale and cold, nearly a vampire himself. His beard ran wild, flecked with grey. His eyes were black; Eric could see the recognition there, the surprise. The Northman in the flesh. He cometh.

Eric trained his eyes over the fairies shoulder, feinting left and right sporadically, the fairy shooting burst after burst of light but missing. First by feet, then by millimeters. The dark trees around them grew bright, sparks flying as the balls of energy made contact with the splintered wood. Eric could feel the adrenaline surge in his long-dormant heart, the thrill of an imminent, challenging kill. Even he was not immune to pureblood fairy, sated as he often was by Sookie. Even he could relish in the taste, the generous yet uncompromising hours of sun that would follow. He would bathe in it. He would feel warm.

He growled, he ducked, he lunged. Heat exploded within his body when his fangs sunk into flesh. A euphoria he hadn't felt in hundreds of years. He felt gluttonous yet strong, the limbs of the fairy weakening, his heart slowing to a distant thump. Eric forced himself to retract his fangs, picking up the limp, twitching body and darting over to Pam, dropping it in her lap. She looked shell-shocked, her eyes wide, her uniform burnt and smoking.

"What is that," she breathed, her fangs long over her lower lip.

"Fairy," Eric said stonily. "Drain it. Enjoy it. Together, we will walk in the sun."

Pam did so, using Eric's access point, her long hair a curtain around her consuming crouch.

"Master," she breathed once the fairy's body crumbled to dust, "I want more."

"No more, my Child." He lifted her, pressed a kiss to her forehead.

They traveled nearby, a frozen lake abandoned by fighting. It was early morning, the sky mercifully cloudless. Even well below its apex, the sun was so bright it hurt. Pam squinted, her mouth open in awe. The snow sparkled, flurries catching the light and glinting like little explosions. Though primarily white and brown, their view was far from monochromatic. Each color broke into a thousand different facets, amplified by the daylight. Eric felt the rays kiss his cheeks, his body anticipating the burn when there was none.

"Sookie is half fairy," Eric said, his voice serious. Pam glanced up at him in surprise. He tried not to speak of Sookie very often; it was easier to keep that side of himself locked away and silent. "It is very important that we stay away from all fairies in the future. They are rare. It should not be difficult."

"But the sunlight," Pam protested, gesturing outward at the beauty they beheld.

"Hunting fairies is a mistake of times gone by. We will not repeat it now. We are creatures of the night," Eric said, his voice monotone. "That is our curse and we must accept it."

Pam sighed but did not say any more. Eric was grateful for her continued patience with him, for her cold but considerate attitude. He did not voice this, but it was true. He'd struggled to find a balance with her the way Godric seemed to do so easily with him when he was still young. To show her the important things, to be cruel yet kind. To rule not with emotion but with necessity, to teach her the hard lessons before the consequences were too great. To earn her respect instead of command it. It was a work in progress.

He needed her. He worried, sometimes, that he loved her.

"Come," he said, holding out his hand. "I will show you how it feels to fly."

**Rome, 1088**

"Drink enough so we can watch the sunrise," Sookie requested, the feeling of Godric's lips still hovering above her breast. Eric held her hand tightly, his eyes dark with lust. They'd picked this spot for its vantage point, the stone arches of the colosseum crumbling beneath them. Beyond them lay Rome, sprawling and glorious. It awaited the caress of the day. They were atop the colosseum's highest point, Godric carrying her while Eric scrambled up the side, still yet unable to conquer his Master's ability of flight.

It was Godric's idea, coming here. It called to him, a distant memory from a faraway time. Something impossibly old and enigmatic, a world far removed from the one they now inhabited.

For the past few months Godric, Sookie and Eric were nomadic, living off the land, traipsing through the Italian countryside without a care. Godric was a miscreant, a troublemaker, an indulger of pleasure no matter the shape or size. He truly was a boy that would not grow up. He bathed in his own power, he was gluttonous with it. Eric was content to follow his lead as long as Sookie was willing to turn a blind eye to Godric's actions. Though it was against her nature, she did so. It was out of respect; it was because of the love Eric had for his Master.

Sookie felt Godric take another long pull of her blood, his brown hair brushing against her chin. Godric shared Eric's same bite; never again had he bitten Sookie after that first attack in Scandinavia, the one that hurt Eric far worse than it did her. Behind them, the sky began to lighten, the rolling hills below just beginning to grow visible, the greens and browns emerging from the shadows as if they were hiding in plain sight. Sookie sighed, relaxing her head against Eric's shoulder. Eric's mouth and chin was already coated in her blood, drops sliding down his bare torso. His fangs stayed out. They would remain so until Godric was finished drinking.

Sure enough, both vampires retracted their fangs at the same time, Godric leaning down to lick her wound tenderly.

"Thank you, Child," he murmured, pressing a paternal kiss to her inflamed skin. Sookie felt dizzy; feeding two thirsty vampires enough blood to give them temporary immunity from the light was not something she did often, or ever. But it was Godric's birthday and she decided she would gift him the sun. After all, it was one of the only things he'd ever truly wanted.

"Too much?" Eric asked, staring into her eyes in examination, preparing to bite his own wrist.

"It is fine," she said, covering his wrist with her hand. "Look." In the distance, a little semi-circle of light appeared. A suggestion of day, golden and warm. Godric gazed outward in amazement, his pale, ancient skin refracting the light in a kaleidoscope. She wondered who was older, him or the colosseum upon which they sat. She had a hunch it was actually him, the boy locked in time, roaming the world for centuries. Had he tread upon this very spot when it was in its prime? Had he seen the glory days then watched as it all fell apart?

By the set of his eyes, Sookie believed the answer to be yes.

Eric pulled her into his lap, her back pressed against his chest, his chin resting atop her head. He held her tight, their newly-formed bond an awesome, permanent thing. It hummed in pleasure; they were indulging it with closeness. Sookie reached back and pressed her palm to the spot she once healed him, the skin now unblemished and perfect. It was where their connection amplified, the nucleus of their power. A bond, doubled.

As the vampires stared, Sookie's own eyes began to close. Morning, to her, was not magical. It was simply the beginning of another day. She felt a cold hand wrap around hers, though it was smaller and finer than Eric's. She opened her eyes to see Godric looking at her instead of the sunrise, gratitude painted across his features, alight and vibrant beneath the sun.

"Thank you," he said again, emphatically, his hand clenching tighter. "For your great and unfathomable gift."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote the first chap of this fic in my apartment in brooklyn, the second 35,000 feet in the air with a mask on, and the rest at my parent's house in oregon. (yes i did the mandatory 14 day quarantine.) i wonder where i will finish it? by the way, still loving all of your comments. even the ones you delete right after posting so i can't respond to them ;) x


	14. Power and Greed

**Scottish Highlands, 1412**

Sookie was already awake when Eric slid open the lid of Godric's coffin.

Though Godric had not been there to meet them when they arrived, it seemed as though they'd only just missed him. It was a human's second home, a functional hunting cabin deep in the woods of a rural property. For all intents and purposes, a safe house in which Godric and Eric were the only two vampires with an invitation. The embers of the fire still glowed hot when they opened the door, a pile of Godric's clothes laying on the floor in the corner, blood speckled across the fabric. Eric picked up a shirt and inhaled deeply; the blood was still relatively fresh, pungent. Godric had not been gone long.

Still, the sun was finally on its way up, fighting the longevity of the Northern winter nights. Sookie was already curled up on the twin-sized bed, huddled beneath the furs of red deer and wildcat. Their travel days had been long and arduous, interrupted on many occasions by Godric's urgent, insistent call. Eric would wake in the middle of the day, his spine rippling with the nearly unstoppable urge to follow his Master's command, to break free in the daylight and fly, like Icarus, too close to the sun. It was both logic and Sookie that saved him, her power lighting him up when instinct overrode his commitment to stay put.

Eric stepped out of the coffin, pushing the heavy wood toward the back wall of the small cabin. He stoked the fire with a metal pole, kneeling down to blow air and life into the dying coals and crumbling wood. Sookie brought over a bowl of herbs and cubed meat, a watery stew to heat over the flames, a hunk of dried bread in her other hand. Eric felt the twang of their bond, his fingertips tingling with the urge to reach out and touch, to pull her in and hold her close. Instead, he kept his distance, watching as she stirred the mixture, the way the flames reached up to lick her skin, the ruddy color of her cheeks.

It hurt, sometimes, to look at her for too long and with too much intensity. Especially in moments when she paid him no mind, when her focus was elsewhere, her mind wandering to the places he could not reach. It was strange, to be jealous of something intangible, to still feel longing for the person sitting right beside you, already completely within your grasp. She turned toward him then, her eyes bright in that inquisitive, unstoppable way only she possessed. An intuition, so achingly alive it made his dead heart clench. He sent a rush of love through their bond, watching as her back grew straighter beneath dress, the flush of her chest right above the exposed skin of her breasts.

"What for?" she asked, speaking of his strong emotions still pulsing reverberating aftershocks between them. He shook his head; there was no reason for it, nor were there words to express it. He had always been careful with her, conscious to keep the vampiric part of himself, the part that felt every emotion so terribly acutely, locked away. Tempered and muted as not to overwhelm her or overtake his rational thought. But, still, he slipped. Not in moments of their purest pleasure or their most exultant connectivity, but in the unexpected moments. When she looked to him on a whim to smile, when he awoke to find her asleep atop him in the coffin, her hand wrapped in his. He craved those moments of surprise affection, of affirmation, when the love he felt burning inside him was finally reflected back.

She abandoned her food and moved, standing before him. He clutched the sides of her dress in his fists, gripping tightly until he heard the straining rip of fabric. He leaned forward to rest his face beneath her breasts, drenching himself in the sweet smell of her blood, her fingers curling around his neck, toying with his hair, grown far too long and unruly.

"Cut it off?" he asked into the linen, dirtied and worn from their travels. She stepped away from him, rooting through the drawers and cabinets of the kitchen until she found a carving knife, its serrated edge gleaming, its tip a sharpened point. He closed his eyes while she worked, sections of blonde hair dropping haphazardly to the floor between them, soft and slow as angel's wings.

"There," she murmured, running her hands through his newly-shorn locks, the spiky tips wrapping around his ears. He grabbed her hand and pulled her around, resting her against him, draped across his lap. Her heartbeat was a gentle, soothing rhythm, as consistent as the tides.

Pliant, soft, and warm. Her body and her lips. Beneath him, before him, around him. He'd missed her, though she'd been with him the whole time. He could not get close enough and feared he never would. He pressed himself into her, craving every point of contact, mindful not to grip too hard but wanting more than anything to unleash all of his strength. A shiver ran down his spine and he froze, Sookie pulling back from him in question. Her fingertip pressed on the worry line between his eyebrows, rubbing and smoothing.

"Godric," Eric explained, placing Sookie on her feet before standing himself. Finally, he was close enough to answer Godric's call, finally he would see what his Master needed so desperately. Eric readied himself to leave, frowning at Sookie as she moved to do the same. "You cannot come."

Sookie scoffed, tying her shawl around her neck.

"I wish to see Godric too," she said, lifting the pot of stew from the fire.

"It's too dangerous," Eric replied, closing their bond in response to her growing anger. When their frustration intermingled, it compounded and became unsolvable. He'd already learned that lesson a hundred times over.

"I can manage."

"Sookie," he groaned, yanking at his now short hair. "We're practically on the battlefield."

"I can take care of myself."

"You are the _enemy_. You cannot and will not be seen with vampires here. Even Godric. Even me."

"So you want me to leave?" Sookie challenged.

"No," Eric's response was instinctual, as it always was. Sookie crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for him to make his request. "Please, just stay here. I will speak with Godric and bring him to you if it is safe." Already, Godric's summons was growing in strength inside him, the ability to disobey becoming impossible. He edged his way to the door.

"Fine," Sookie sighed, frowning.

"Do you promise?" Eric asked, knowing of her tendency to flout orders, especially if he was the one giving them.

"I promise." She looked him straight in the eye, her face implacable and insolent. His fangs trembled, wanting to respond to her attitude with violence, as was his nature. He kept them locked away inside his gums, using the last of his defiant strength in order to approach her, placing a forceful, closed kiss on her lips. Though she did not respond, her posture softened, forgiving.

"Thank you," he said, stepping outside and propelling himself upward toward the glowing stars.

x

There were so many vampires it was difficult, at first, to spot Godric. Eric had been alive nearly half a millennia and he had never seen so many in one place. There were hundreds. As nomadic, primarily solitary creatures, vampires rarely congregated in larger groupings than their own bloodlines or nests. This was altogether unheard of. Dangerously so.

Out in an open field, the vampires were arranged in a loose semi-circle, clustered together in small groups though orbiting around a center point. It was a young vampire, new, her hair bright orange, freckles across her nose. She kneeled, her head down, wrists shackled in silver chains. She was crying bloody tears. Eric approached cautiously, lingering on the outside of the main masse, scanning the crowd for Godric. The bond with his Maker was singing; they had not been so near to each other in many years. It filled him with a curious mix of apprehension and joy.

"Silence," a vampire said, commanding the attention of the crowd. "We are all thirsty for blood, but we must first take care of the deserter."

He spoke with a flourishing British accent and he was very pale, even for a vampire. He held his chin angled upward, with a regal, pompous air. He was rather frail looking, his brown hair short and combed back, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. By the way the other vampires respected him, Eric knew he must be ancient. Just to his left, Eric finally spotted Godric. His head was bent at the neck, eyes trained toward the ground. He looked small and meek in comparison, though Eric knew his appearance belied his true strength. More often than not, Godric used that to his advantage.

Eric sent a confused greeting through their bond. Physically, Godric did not show any notice of Eric's arrival, but Eric felt a gentle pressure on their bond. An acknowledgement, a door that Godric rarely opened. It was then that Eric got a taste of Godric's emotion, a hybrid of gratitude and guilt. Before Eric could probe further, the bond closed once more, Godric once again restricting access to his true feelings. Frustrated, Eric stepped forward, meaning to force his Maker to acknowledge his presence. But by the time he started to move, the ancient vampire was speaking once more.

"Firstly, we must thank Godric," the vampire said, nodding his head slightly, "For apprehending Siobhan before she could leave the country. As we all know, this is a Holy War. It is a war for everything that matters, the one thing we have wanted to conquer. It is a war for the day."

The vampires in the semi-circle nodded their heads, small growls of acknowledgement could be heard throughout. The bloodlust, building.

"We need everyone– _everyone_ –to play their part. Each of us has a vital role, whether you are fighting or training or, perhaps most important of all, creating new vampires to fight for our cause."

He took a dramatic, histrionic breath. He was enjoying himself, he was getting off on the attention.

"And yet, Siobhan believed otherwise. She thinks we do not deserve to meet the day safely. She has stated that we are condemned to be creatures of the night forever."

The crowd grumbled, angry now. Fangs dropped, hands arced into claws. Godric hadn't moved a muscle, his downturned head impassive and unreadable.

"Russell, please, it was a lapse in judgement. I will do better if only you spare me," the girl said, reaching up to him from her spot on her knees. Begging for her life. It was then that Eric decided he had wandered into a tribunal. On the edge of a battlefield. Eric marveled at the hubris, the ego. To judge their own kind in the midst of a war, it was nearly nihilistic, were the tribunal itself not decided by some ever-changing moral code. Eric wanted to scoff. He and Godric were elders in comparison to the majority of the vampires in attendance, the way they preened, desperate to witness the kill, was immature and childish. The ancient vampire was courting them with grandeur, with vengeance, with a promise of the sun.

"You ask for forgiveness? For mercy?" the vampire questioned, laughing a showy laugh. "We are at our most efficient, at our strongest. There is no room for a weak link."

The vampire did not savor the kill as Eric had expected. He did not draw it out, he did not torture. He simply removed a wooden stake from beneath his cloak and reached down, wedging it directly into the girl's heart. She did not have a chance to cry out, to pray. She met her true death, likely only months after meeting her first, a mass of blood and guts on the field before them. Eric watched as the vampire wiped the slime on his jacket, turning from the now agitated crowd, fangs dropped and panting. The energy was rampant, electric, which, Eric realized must have been the point of the entire episode.

He was not hosting a tribunal. No, it was far more ingenious than that.

He was preparing his troops for battle.

Godric met his eye for the first time, summoning him through their bond. The majority of the vampires congregated had already fled, thirsty for violence and wound up tight, pit bulls finally unleashed. Only a small grouping remained, most clustered around the speaker, Godric included. Eric approached cautiously, his eyes inquisitive. When he got close enough, he bowed his head respectfully.

"Master," he murmured. The group quieted, appraising Eric. Godric placed his hand on Eric's shoulder, allowing him to lift his chin once more.

"Eric," Godric smiled, small and cautious. "You have finally come."

"I am sorry, I thought we were–" He meant to continue, to apologize for traveling to France only to find an empty apartment, to take the blame even though he was sure Godric had directed him to do just that. But Godric silenced him with a sharp look, a word of caution in their bond, an order of quiet.

"It is no matter. You are now here to fight for our cause," he said.

Eric stared at Godric, confused and suspicious. Godric never partook in the plights or follies of the vampire community, their fights or their qualms or their Holy Wars. He did not believe he should die for anyone other than himself. Only two vampires were left standing beside them, the ancient one and a younger, attractive counterpart. Her hair was long, richly brown, the ends hovering over her lower back. She gazed at Eric, her eyes dark and sultry, appraising him and his figure with a confident, seductive grin.

"This is The Northman? I do say, we have heard only great things," the elderly, English vampire interjected. The cordial, comfortable nature of affluence. He tilted his head slightly in Eric's direction. "I am Russell. Russell Edgington. This is my partner, Freya. She, too, is from the North, though I do believe she is a fair few years younger than yourself."

"Please, call me Eric," Eric responded deferentially, still channeling confusion through his bond with Godric.

"Eric," Freya cut in, "You smell an awful lot like fairy. Did you encounter any on your way to us?"

"You have keen senses," Eric complimented. "I did, but it was only a skirmish. I am afraid she got away." It was Eric's gut instinct to lie and he always, always trusted his gut.

"I am surprised she could have bested one such as you. Godric tells us you are a brilliant warrior and were once Viking," Russell said, leaning in to sniff Eric's clothing. "The scent is faint but unique."

"I was preoccupied with returning to Godric," Eric explained.

"Ah, yes. Godric believes you are more powerful than an army of newborn vampires, do you think this of yourself?" Russell asked.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Eric said, his eyes flickering to Godric. Godric's face was impassive, it betrayed nothing.

"It's quite simple. Godric has woven tales of your brilliance and I would like to see it in action. The Holy War needs you."

"Surely you have more seasoned warriors," Eric said, acting nonchalant.

"None such as you, Viking," Russell replied.

"And if I choose not to fight?" Eric asked, growing agitated. Russell growled, a warning.

"That is why Godric is here. Such a patriot Godric was, summoning you. He will truly do anything for the cause." Russell stared right at Godric as he spoke. Though his words were cordial, there was an underlying threat to the tenor. A provocation to fight back, to challenge him. Godric did not. He blinked once, bowing his head in submission. "Well, what are you waiting for?" Russell asked, rubbing his hands together, eager, a smile on his face.

"I wish to speak to my Progeny first, he has only just arrived," Godric said, his eyes flashing.

"Oh, that won't be necessary," Russell replied, denying him. "I love to see Maker commands in person. They give me such a thrill, right, Freya?"

"Oh, yes," Freya agreed.

"Godric," Eric said warily, "What is the meaning of this?"

"You will be fine, you are a natural and I have trained you myself. All will be fine," he spoke slowly and directly, a rush of calm reassurance across their bond. He was wide open, imploring Eric to trust him.

"I will not fight fairies," Eric breathed, alluding to Sookie as obviously as he dared.

"You can, you have, and you will."

"Godric–" Eric tried again, but Godric shut him down, his fangs long, his expression furious.

"You must respect me," Godric hissed. Russell and Freya still hovered beside them, enraptured. Russell looked positively enthusiastic.

"Yes, Godric," Eric acquiesced. He reached outward with his bond, searching for Sookie. He found her, still back at the cabin, impatiently waiting. First, he sent her an outpouring of love. Then, without hesitation, he warned her to stay away. To run far and fast. For the first time in his existence, he was telling her to leave. There was no response, none that he heard, for Godric had already begun.

"Eric, you will fight this Holy War. You will kill any fairy you come across. None will stop you. It is your birthright. We will win, we will capture any remaining fairies, and we will own the day. As your Maker, I command it."

Eric felt his muscles lock up and his mind glaze over. A singular focus, impossible to deny, a craving he could not ignore. He couldn't hear Russell's delighted clapping, couldn't see Freya's victorious smile, couldn't discern Godric's mournful expression, couldn't feel Sookie pressing on their bond, her questions, her concern, her panic. His mind was now singular, his mission was clear. Everything else fell away, all became unimportant.

"Yes, Godric," he murmured again, though this time the words were decidedly emptier. Then, he flew into the air. It would be daylight soon. Before he went to ground, he was determined to kill his first fairy.

**Louisiana, 2008**

Eric was particularly skilled at looking present even though he was lost in downtime. He was able to twitch a bit, he blinked, he could even shrug his arms and legs. But all the while, in his mind, he was elsewhere. It was a peaceful absence, nearing a dream. It negated all emotions or thought, it tempered bloodlust or worry, it made him colder, more focused, more vampiric. He often chose downtime when he was sitting atop the throne at Fangtasia. He was able to ignore the crowds, their lust and their desperation, from both the fangbangers and the fangs. Though most eyes were on him, his eyes were on nothing at all.

Only the smell of Sookie could break him from such a state. She walked through the doors in a short, denim skirt, her blonde hair piled high atop her head, curls framing her face. Her bare neck seemed to glow, the bruises finally faded from her attack. It made his fingers curl, thinking of that night. Her limp body in his arms, the yellowing beneath her skin, her faint yet persistent heartbeat. The wood of the throne splintered under his fingers as he drew himself from the memory, focusing instead on the beautiful sight before him.

She looked so carefree, so pure and open. It was so unlike the Sookie he was used to, her guarded actions, only at her truest self when they were alone together in private. That was the Sookie he knew, the one whose stubborn caution defined her, who found solace in their connection despite the hardships they endured. This Sookie was never reserved, never restrained. It didn't matter who she was with. She exuded spontaneity and spunk; unburdened, joyous humanity. It was the root of her, unearthed and shining, free from the shackles of her tumultuous past.

When she saw him, sitting there atop his throne, unlocking himself from downtime, her face split in a grin. He watched, he waited, he let her weave through the crowd to him like a burst of light through a sea of black. It was such a strange feeling, tracking her approach. He'd spent his entire existence chasing, following, holding fast. And yet here she was, at his bar, coming to where he sat, seeking him out. It made him burn and he tugged their broken bond, wishing she could feel his burn too. Wishing she could understand how this innocuous moment was actually a miracle.

"I missed you," she said, climbing into his lap, doubling down on his wildest fantasies. They were not dirty, not raunchy. They didn't involve expensive lingerie or kinky scenarios. They were simple. She pursued him, she chose him, she wanted him, she never left him. "Where have you been?"

"Here, min kärlek. As you can see, it's riveting work being Sheriff," he replied sarcastically. He commended his own performance, it was almost like he wasn't losing his entire being on the inside. She laughed, the sound so familiar to him yet so rare. It caused another rush of emotion within him and he locked his arms around her, holding her close. Her skin was warm and tanned despite the colder weather outside. He rubbed his hands along her bare arms, concerned by her lack of jacket. "You came in this? It is cold."

"I figured you could warm me up," she teased, her eyelashes fluttering. He swallowed a lump in his throat, feeling his cock wake up in response to her words.

"So forward, Ms. Stackhouse. You must be careful what you say to a vampire, it could be dangerous," he warned, his voice low, arching a brow suggestively.

"Wouldn't I actually be Mrs. Northman?" she asked sweetly, playing at innocent. Her finger reached up to stroke the ring at his chest. He was silent, warring with his body, ordering himself not fuck her right there on stage. It would take but a moment: rip off her panties, unzip, slide inside, connected and home beneath that little denim skirt. "Sheriff?"

Her use of his title put him over the edge. Only the sharpest vampires would've noticed their movement, he darted them to the back so quickly. He threw her down on the leather couch in his office, crawling atop her and hovering, his forearms framing her face. She was wearing makeup, her eyes wide like a doe and her lashes fringed thick, her lips glossy and pink, sticky and sweet.

"You like when I call you 'Sheriff'," she mumbled, her breaths coming in little gasps as he worked his lips down her body, hovering in the places he knew she liked. The back of her ear. Left clavicle. Just above the belly button. The dip of her hip. He simply purred in response, vibrating her skin, unleashing his fangs to tempt her, just a nick, just a little something to satisfy his craving, his bloodlust to consume her both inside and out. He unbuttoned her skirt, fighting the urge to rip it in two, dragging it down her thighs.

"I will show you how much I like it," he threatened, eyeing her panties next.

Instead, a knock at the door interrupted them. Sookie yelped, reaching for her skirt, buttoning her shirt hastily. Eric could sense Pam at the door and he was furious. His cock was straining against his jeans, aching to be unleashed. He had Sookie in the palm of his hand. He flew to the door, nearly compressing the metal of the knob into dust.

"This better be good," he growled, his words a hiss. Pam held up her cell phone between her thumb and pointer finger like it was dirty laundry she'd rather not touch.

"It's Sophie-Anne. Again. She's started calling _me_ now, Eric. Maybe you should respond to her before she sends her dogs on our asses," Pam snarked. She had blood on her lips, it dripped down her chin and chest. Apparently he was not the only one who'd been interrupted mid-flow.

"Do not tell me how to run my Area," Eric snapped, grabbing the phone. "Get back to your meal before it gets cold."

"Yes, Master," she winked and was gone.

Eric stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door with a snap. He could hear Sookie shuffling around inside, the slide of her skin on leather. He pushed it from his mind; he would focus on her again soon enough.

"Your majesty," Eric said, attempting to remove the majority of the disdain he felt from his voice.

"Sheriff, you've been ignoring me." Sophie-Anne's voice was cruel and cold. Though he was significantly older and more powerful than Sophie-Anne, he never truly minded being one of her Sheriffs. Mainly because he had no desire to be King, but also because she had a certain Devil may care attitude that he admired, even when she was at her worst or most superficial self.

"I've been busy." Eric was short with her. He was the strongest vampire in her Queendom, she could not afford to be too demanding.

"I am your Queen," she hissed. "I'll cut straight to the point. Bill Compton tells me you have a telepath."

Eric paused, weighing a thousand options in under a second. He landed on the most defensive.

"She is mine." He spit the words like poison sucked from a wound.

"So I've heard," she said. "Still, you'll bring her to me. I wish to meet her."

"No."

"As your Queen, you must."

"No," Eric reiterated. "Go fuck yourself."

To his surprise, Sophie-Anne laughed.

"Fine. She is more than a telepath. You know it, I know it. If you don't bring her to me, there are other vampires I can employ to force your hand. Vampires even older than you, Eric. I'm sure they would all like a taste. Many haven't seen the sunrise in centuries." Her words were deliberate and cutting, one after the next digging a little bit deeper. Eric took a breath, steadying his anger. How dare they try to take her when she had only just returned? How dare someone as inconsequential as Bill Compton attempt to break over a thousand years of shared history? Before he knew it, Eric had broken the phone. It was but a hunk of plastic in his fist, useless machinery. Eric dropped it on the floor, thundering back into his office.

Sookie awaited him, the smile on her face falling slightly when she saw his murderous expression.

"What's wrong?" she asked, the picture of gentleness. He controlled his features, conquering the bloodlust rising deep within him. The natural call to kill, to drink, to fuck the rage right out of him.

"Let's get out of here," Eric offered, grateful when she agreed. He drove them to his house in Shreveport, a secluded neighborhood with two light tight bedrooms and a daytime security detail. He figured they might need it after he effectively hung up on the Queen. Plus, he couldn't help but fantasize about what it would be like to have Sookie stay with him after sunrise, for him to awake at sunset with her still in his arms.

She examined his home, walking through the room, looking at each item more than once. He let her, following, seeing the space through her eyes. It was impersonal, cold. There were no human touches. It was so unlike the house she lived in with her grandmother that it was almost laughable. Eric did not want to feel ashamed, did not want her to dwell on their differences. He tempted her, kissed her, distracted her with affection until her heart rate increased and her breathing quickened. She clutched his hand as he brought her to his bedroom, laying her down on the silken sheets, an image he'd pictured in his mind so many times it was almost confusing to see it once more in reality.

She reached out her arms to him, wanting him, needing him. He wanted her to sweat for him, to moan for him, to cry out his name. He wanted her to feel everything as if for the very first time, untainted and raw. He wanted to bury himself in her, first his cock and then his fangs. He wanted to give her pleasure, he wanted to take away any pain. He wanted her fingers in his hair, how she always knew to find the exact perfect spot. He wanted her body flushed and aching beneath him, holding him to her with all of her strength. He wanted. He wanted it all.

"Min kärlek," he whispered into her ear, holding her flush as he pushed inside her. She was wet, waiting, wanting. Just as he remembered, just as he desired. "My love."

"Min kärlek," she tried, rolling the foreign words around on her tongue, testing them out, tasting their strangeness. He rutted into her, trying to control himself but losing himself in the process, struck once more by the woman beneath him, by the pure and untouchability of their love. She shuddered against him and he followed quickly, sated and content. He marveled at her, how unencumbered she was, how dearly she desired him, her small arm wrapped tightly around his waist.

"Do you want to remember?" he asked her on impulse, reveling in her presence without yearning for the past for perhaps the very first time.

"Of course, don't you want me to?" she replied, angling her face up to look at him.

Suddenly, he wasn't so sure. There were so many moments they shared but not all of them were good. Perhaps they could write a new story, one without pain. It tempted him more than he wished to admit.

"Will you stay with me after the sun rises?" he asked her, purposefully ignoring her original question.

And so unlike the Sookie he knew, she answered easily: "Of course."


	15. Broken and New

**Scandinavia, 1006**

Godric threw Eric down on his back. Again. Sookie winced, the snow rising up around Eric's horizontal body in a pillowy cloud before falling down again in clumps. Eric snarled, pushing himself up, winding around Godric, his chest puffed out aggressively. Godric, his opponent, was the picture of calm. The only way Sookie could tell he was in a fighting stance at all was the very slight incline of his head in Eric's direction and the way his eyes tracked him, unblinking, waiting. They'd been at this for hours, nearly the entire night, which in the winter months of the North was an awfully long time.

Sookie huddled by a makeshift fire, close enough to see them but far enough that the scent of her blood would not distract in their skirmish. Their newly-formed bond meant that Sookie now felt pain when Eric felt pain, though it was only a fraction of the source. Eric did his best to shut their connection to spare her, but he was still perfecting the art and it didn't help that his attention was focused elsewhere. Mainly on Godric, his absolute skill and his uncompromising commitment to re-train Eric into a warrior. No longer just viking, but vampire. Master of both.

"Again," Godric ordered, his voice soft but demanding.

Eric and Godric looked strange and deadly all of the time. No matter where the trio went, other humans knew to run the other way, whether the vampires were acting aggressively or not. No amount of seduction from either of the them could put a human entirely at ease, not with their cold skin and hard eyes. When they fought, when they let themselves succumb to their true nature, that was when they were at their most inhuman. Sookie watched as Eric stalked forward, his uncovered chest impervious to the cold, his breath the same temperature as the air around him. It did not mist, it did not evaporate. His feet, also bare, slid through the wet snow like he simply skated atop it. He hardly left an imprint.

Godric stood still, his hands locked behind his back, watching Eric's advance. Sookie could see the tension in Eric's body, could feel his fury, his drive to finally overtake his Maker. The disappointment each time he failed, the self-hatred and frustration. As a human, Eric was nearly impervious to his foes, cutting them down with his broadsword with ease. But now, unarmed save for his own muscles and instincts, he was at a disadvantage to the much older, seasoned fighter. Eric feinted to the left just before reaching Godric. For a moment, Sookie almost thought Eric had him, the last minute switch leaving a hair's breadth of time for Eric to strike. Sookie could feel Eric's hope; he thought the same.

But it was not so. Godric swiveled just before Eric's attack, swinging his arm out and locking his hand around Eric's wrist. He twisted Eric's arm backward, throwing him to the ground with ease, wrapping his other hand around Eric's throat, a prostrate victim in the snow. Eric growled lowly, his fangs snapping at Godric whose own, longer pair were unsheathed yet unthreatening.

"You are planning. Plotting. This will do you no good. You must focus elsewhere, read the vibrations of the air and the twitch of your own muscles. Do not look me in the eye. When you read me, I, too, can read you," Godric lectured, holding Eric down in the snow.

"I must decide which action to take before I take it," Eric said beneath the pressure of Godric's hand, still clenched tightly around his throat.

"You are wrong. You must follow your instincts and nothing more. If you do not make a decision, I cannot predict that decision. Therefore, I cannot combat it."

"How can I think of nothing? That is not possible," Eric protested, pushing Godric's hand off with his forearm gruffly.

"Trust your own abilities. Trust in yourself. Not strategy, not technique. Forget your human teachings, I am your one master now."

Godric stood, holding his hand out to Eric, pulling him into a standing position. Eric stretched his neck, leaning his head from left to right. The repeated beatings had taken a toll on him physically, Sookie could sense it in her own muscles, her own stiff bones. Though she herself was uninjured, the memory of his wounds leaked into her, too. She took a long sip of the water mixture she'd boiled on the fire, ginger root and wild honey sweet on her tongue. Eric glanced at her, licking his own lips. He found pleasure when she found pleasure just as she found pain when he found pain.

"Again," Godric ordered, capturing his attention.

Hour after hour, they continued. Sookie watched the stars travel across the sky, the whole universe seeming to shift above her instead of the ground rotating below. She cleared off a small area, using her power to melt the snow, laying down in the cold, damp grass. It was late and she was tired; she wondered when they would be done, when she could find solace in Eric's arms. Ever since they created their bond, her desire to be with him had grown tenfold, each moment separated like an itch she couldn't quite scratch or a sneeze that tickled yet wouldn't come. She pulsed their bond with want, feeling guilty when Eric slipped focus because of it, the distraction allowing Godric to ricochet him into the earth once more.

Sookie was nearing sleep, bundled up beneath Eric's discarded clothing, when she was suddenly aloft, held in the air by two strong, chilled hands wrapped around her biceps. She felt fangs at her throat, hovering, teasing. Sookie struggled within the grip, her hands warming but locked to her sides, incapacitated. She was completely and utterly disarmed.

"Shhh," Godric soothed, just above her ear. He held her closer, his grip tighter.

"Godric, what are you doing?" Sookie groaned, shifting her weight. It was no use, there was nowhere to budge. Eric appeared, confused and agitated. His skin was black and blue, bruises blooming from Godric's continued attacks. His hair was a wild mess, wet and dripping snow, drops landing on his heaving chest.

"What is the meaning of this?" Eric asked warily, approaching the pair slowly, his hands raised.

"You are not improving," Godric answered, his voice low yet eerily distant despite the fact that he was so close to Sookie's skin. "You need the proper motivation."

"Stop playing," Eric scoffed, relaxing his stance minutely.

"You think I play?" Godric implored, gripping Sookie tighter. "Your emotions distract you. Your hope distracts you. Your love distracts you. But you cannot be loved. You are damned. Use your curse or she dies."

"Godric, don't be ridiculous," Sookie said, the tremor in her voice belying her fear. Godric's hand slammed over her mouth, effectively silencing her. All she could do was watch as Eric stiffened, anger roiling off his body in static shocks, burning behind his eyes, now cold and hard as if to defy what lay beneath them. Sookie felt his disbelief, his unadulterated rage within her, swimming through her bloodstream like a poison, electrifying her fingertips until they glowed yellow. Godric had promised them no harm would come to Sookie, not after Sookie spared his life. And yet there he was, his fangs brushing her carotid artery, the seductive tickle of death. A vampire, true to form.

Eric advanced. He wasn't breathing, he wasn't blinking. He was completely himself, his emotions suddenly gone as if they evaporated, Sookie felt only his absence, his void, as if he became but a shell, a vessel, a weapon and nothing more. Sookie trembled, unable to read Godric, unable to see how he was responding. Was Eric's next move obvious, as it had been countless times before? Would Godric best him easily and effortlessly? Would they both be in the snow, dead and cold? The uncertainty not only plagued her but frustrated her to no end. She should never have let her guard down before a vampire, whether he had promised himself trustworthy or otherwise. It went against all of her teachings and now, rightfully so, she was paying for it.

Sookie felt Godric's cold breath ghost across her neck, steady and sure. Controlled. Sookie let her eyes drift closed, giving herself up completely, trusting in Eric without tracking his every move. Instinctual, as he, too, had been trained. It was all she could do. She felt a rush of air, her hair whipping around her face, a momentary weightlessness until she landed with a thud into the snow. She opened her eyes, scouring the scene for Eric and Godric. They moved quickly, sparring, Godric matching Eric's moves though only barely, only at the last possible moment. Their limbs meeting sounded of thunder, it cracked and echoed over the open plain. A series of sporadic sounds as their sparring continued, until one, finally, had the other pinned beneath him.

Godric bested Eric yet again. Furious, Sookie shot up, her power already white hot in her palms, running across the snowy field and blasting Godric unawares from the side, shooting him up and into the distance. She glanced at Eric, overall unharmed, before passing him by and stomping furiously to Godric. He landed with such force and from such height that a crater of snow surrounded him, his hair smoking slightly where she'd lit it on fire before the flames were doused in the snow. To her surprise, Godric was laughing.

He lay on his back, staring up at the sky, beaming so hard his cheeks bunched and his eyes crinkled.

"I suppose I deserved that," Godric said, pushing himself to a seated position, wincing slightly as he did so. He continued to smile. Sookie crossed her arms over her chest, his mirth making her want to blast him again just to prove her point.

Eric appeared, standing over Sookie's shoulder, his hands moving the hair from around her neck, gathering it up to inspect the area for any damage from Godric's fangs. She was untouched, of course. Just a little shaken and a lot betrayed.

"You did well, Eric," Godric offered, running his hand through his burnt hair. "You may go to ground. The sun comes soon."

"I'm not leaving you with her," Eric said sternly, his hand wrapped in Sookie's fur overcoat.

"She's more than proven she can defend herself, don't you think?" Godric asked, brushing the excess snow from his legs.

"Yes, but–" Eric began, though Godric's serious expression and singular raised eyebrow told Eric he was no longer allowed to push on the matter. Sooner or later, Godric would simply command him.

"I'll be fine. I want to talk to Godric, I have a few choice words I want to say," Sookie said, rubbing Eric's arm. "I'll see you when you wake."

Eric's face twisted, unconvinced. Still, he leaned down and placed a lingering kiss on Sookie's forehead, his fingertips running down her neck in goodbye. Then he darted into the trees, searching the deep wood for a spot to rest. Sookie sat down in the snow, staring at Godric until he joined her. He looked nonchalant, though it seemed to Sookie to be an act. He sauntered over–ever the youthful gait, ever the whimsical yet deadly persona–and sat down gracefully beside Sookie, curling his legs beneath him.

Sookie looked at him expectantly and waited.

"I apologize," Godric finally said, his eyes straight ahead, "I would not have used you had I not deemed it necessary."

"It was unnecessary," Sookie stated. "I am not a toy or a tool."

"I know you are not. But it was necessary. I have seen countless vampires die from negligence, from poor training, from ignorance. If he is unable to separate his emotional self from his physical self, he will die. It is my job, as Maker, to ensure he lives. What can I do but teach, especially before the stakes are too great? It won't always be skirmishes, Sookie. We both know this. He must learn to take care of himself and take care of you."

"I can look after myself." Sookie rested her chin on her knees, watching as the sky lightened around them.

"You must take care of him, then," Godric allowed. "There are forces beyond even my control and eventually we will face them. And when the time comes, we will be prepared. I will not permit us to be otherwise. That would be my greatest failing."

Godric had turned his attention to Sookie, searching her eyes. He would not be able to stay out much longer, the sun was only minutes from rising.

"I know you do not care for me as you care for Eric. I know I am a burden. Do not feel you need to protect me as you do him," Sookie said, shame rising in her throat. Godric had surely not intended to grow his coven by two when he changed Eric; he was saddled unexpectedly with their shared history. He could not lose one of them without losing both.

"Do not speak this way. You are bonded with my Child therefore you, too, are my Child." He spoke fiercely and with conviction. Sookie reached over and grasped his hand, her warmth enveloping his cool fingers with her own. He did not respond but he did not pull away, allowing her palm to rest atop his skin. She used the last of her power, sending two quick pulses outward, just enough to send a shock of heat from his hand straight through to his heart. He shuddered, tingling from the sudden influx, and smiled at her. She did not lift her hand until the sun rose before them, until he had to, reluctantly, join Eric in death.

**Louisiana, 2008**

Godric came to her slowly. He looked ethereal, drenched in light. He glowed. Sookie was confused, staring at him, the way he smiled, so small and trusting, the tattoos on his bare chest and arms, ancient and true, his brown hair backlit gold, shining, brilliant. She had to place a hand over her eyes, shading them from his bright, reflective glare.

"How?" she asked, marveling. His fangs descended, though his smile was still peaceful, still welcoming and warm. "How do you not burn?"

"Because of your great and unfathomable gift, Sookie," he murmured, his quiet voice clear as crystal though he was distant. She wanted him closer, needed him closer. Craved his touch. But she could not move, her muscles would not respond, she was frozen in place. Waiting. Yearning.

"Godric, please," she begged, but for what she did not know. Godric continued to walk but he seemed to get no closer, like a forced perspective gone wrong. She felt herself shackled in place, though no clear weights held her down. It was beyond frustrating–it was agonizing. As if reading her mind, he appeared before her, crouching down. He was no longer smiling.

"Where is Eric?" he asked. The surprise she felt at his question shocked her. She felt for her bond, tugging, but the line was slack. There was no purchase on the other side, an anchor floating uselessly in deep water. She tried again but still, there was no response. Someone had severed their bond, someone had cut the cord. She was furious and panicked. _Where is Eric?_

"I don't know," she answered, desperate and true.

Godric growled and darkness fell, the sky cloaked by an impenetrable cloud, shadows growing endless and overlapping.

"What have you done to my Child?" he growled, leaning toward her menacingly, his fangs impossibly long. She felt warm and powerful, but, still, she could not move. The dichotomy was infuriating, her drive to unleash her rage thwarted by some invisible force she could not understand.

"I cannot feel him. Is he dead?" Sookie asked, terrified. "Godric, you must tell me."

"I trusted you to care for him. To look after him," Godric accused, wounded. Betrayed.

"I don't know what happened," she pleaded. "I didn't hurt him. It wasn't my fault. I can't remember."

"Which is it, then?" Godric asked. "It wasn't your fault or you can't remember?"

The words died in her throat. She had no answer. Godric's fangs grew longer, preparing to strike. He stared at her neck, furious. Plotting. Thirsty for revenge. She knew, then, that he would bite. There was nothing left to hold him back. No sense of loyalty to her, not without Eric. She was no longer a by-product to their Maker/Child bond. She was no longer under his protection, no longer safe from the ancient and deadly vampire before her. Sure enough, he approached, his body dropping into an animalistic crouch. She watched as his eyes turned dark and foreign, giving himself over to instinct, becoming the weapon he'd perfected.

He leaned in. Paused to inhale. And bit.

x

Sookie sat up, sweating, clutching her throat. It was untouched, unblemished. There was no blood, no bite. Her heart raced and she reached outward aimlessly to ground herself. She was in her own bedroom in her own home, the familiar pink wallpaper dark in the night, her curtains blowing in the gentle breeze. Her window was open, cracked slightly ajar. Eric sat beside her, looking down with concern. He'd taken off his shoes and jacket but was otherwise clad in his usual black jeans and wifebeater. His clothes smelled of smoke and rust: eau du Fangtasia.

"You were having a nightmare." Eric spoke soothingly, though he did not move to touch her. "Will you tell me of it?"

"You stink," she said instead of answering, waving her hand in front of her nose. "Your shirt smells like an ashtray."

"If you wanted me naked, Sookie, all you had to do was ask," Eric winked, peeling off his shirt and jeans. He tossed them on the floor in a pile, left only in a pair of surprisingly red boxers. Sookie let her eyes trail down the expanse of his body; trying to calm her heart rate from the nightmare proved futile when he lay before her in such a state. She lifted the blanket, beckoning him beneath it. He looked surprisingly gentle under her soft floral sheets, his hair frizzed from the static of her pillowcase. She lay down back down beside him on her side, their hands intertwined between them.

"What of your dream?" Eric prompted again, kissing the back of her hand, leaving it near his lips.

"I didn't understand it," she said, speaking slowly, trying to remember her nightmare's now hazy edges, the images floating in her mind, little wisps of memory. "There was a boy, a vampire. He was very beautiful and pale, he knew me and was talkin' to me. He had these tattoos. I'd never seen them before on anyone, they looked old and strange."

"Godric," Eric supplied, his lips pursed.

"Yes!" she cried, more of the dream coming back to her with the realization of his name. "Who's Godric?"

"Godric was my Maker," Eric responded solemnly, his eyes tight.

"Was?"

"He is gone. Dead."

"Oh, Eric. I'm so sorry," she whispered, pressing herself closer to him. She knew little of the bond a Maker had with his Child. She only knew that it was very important and ran very deep, like a close family member. Losing his Maker could not have been easy. His face reflected this fact, immediately closed-off and distant. His muscles were stiff, strained, and he held her hand tighter within his.

"It was a very long time ago," he said, brushing off her compassion. It was clearly a sore subject and she hated that she accidentally brought it up.

"In my dream, he spoke of you. He had so much love for you. And I for him. I tried to reach him but I couldn't. I needed him. I…" she trailed off, struggling to put her thoughts into words. "I think I miss him."

Eric was silent for a long moment. The quiet in the room was thick, it carried weight. She felt it sinking into the floors and resting between them, growing wide and creating space. She was about to urge him to say something, to say anything, when he finally spoke.

"I miss him too," he admitted softly, begrudgingly. He would not meet her eye, instead staring intently at a frayed string in her sheets, pulling at the unraveling section with his thumb and forefinger.

Sookie stroked the top of his hand with hers, kneading the tension in his knuckles.

"It's strange to miss someone you don't remember," she said quietly, feeling moisture well up in her eyes. It was unexpected, a lingering emotion leftover from her dream now leaking into reality, creating a menagerie of feelings whose source could not be truly discerned. "Eric," she began, remembering another part of her dream, "Were we bonded?"

"Yes," he said simply, one of his hands trailing down from hers and touching his chest, a spot near his lowest rib.

"That means I drank your blood, right? But now we aren't anymore? Bonded, I mean. I thought it was permanent," she whispered, trying to remember what she'd learned from Bill about vampire bonds, what the vampire exposés warned against on daytime television. They spoke of its dangers, how the vampire could track the human, control the human, own the human, then drain the human.

"It can be permanent. Ours was but… you're right, it's now broken."

Her brow furrowed, not understanding.

"Did you break it?" she asked.

"No," he said emphatically. "It can only be broken in death. It is very painful when it breaks."

She put the puzzle pieces together in her mind, an interlocking snap as everything fell into place.

"Did you think I was dead?" she asked. "Since our bond is broken."

He was silent again, his eyes drifting closed. Beneath his lids there was a flickering movement, almost as if he, too, were dreaming. She traced the paper-thin skin of his eyes, drifting under them to the shadows that hovered beneath, the long, straight line of his nose, the cupid's bow of his upper lip, the cut of his jaw and curve of his ear. She was memorizing him as he lay before her, a statue carved beneath her fingertips. His eyes opened again, their blue surprisingly vibrant in the darkness, a lighthouse's beacon shining bright on a stormy sea.

"Yes," he admitted. "Yes, I did."

She arched toward him, reminding him of her realness, of her tangibility. Her skin, warm from the sun, brushing against his cold, pale chest, her fingers digging deep into his muscles, as hard as she dared. He moaned quietly, jutting out his chin toward her face, his lips brushing over her own without any pressure, an acknowledgement of their existence, of what it felt like when they met. She pushed on his shoulder and he responded, moving to rest upon his back. She crawled over him, her worn nightgown bunched up around her as she straddled his abdominals. He gazed upwards at her, helping her lift off the clothing until she was bare before him, awash by the moonlight flowing through the open window. He palmed her breasts, pulling her down to him until their skin was flush, until her hair was a curtain around their faces, lips hovering close but not touching. She slid backward onto him, reveling in the feeling of completeness, a sensation she would never tire of for all the days she lived.

His eyes rolled up, the whites gleaming as he arched beneath her, letting her set the pace, the slow build that tantalized them both.

"Please," he pleaded into the darkness. She marveled at the request; she had never once heard him beg, figuring him incapable of getting any less than exactly what he wanted. She sped up, rubbing herself against him at a feverish pace, the coil inside her wound up tight and bursting until she clenched around him, bounding into exultation, needing more than anything for him to follow. He flipped her urgently, her legs like jelly beneath him, thrusting so harshly her head thumped against the pillows, her hands gripping his shoulders for balance. He lifted her leg, wrapping it around his hip, managing two more wayward thrusts until he collapsed atop her, panting and spent.

She felt his nose run a line up her neck, languidly lapping at her sweat, lazy, sated licks.

"Eric," she whispered. He made a muffled noise somewhere near her breast, his tongue swirling her nipple, nearly riling her up again. "If we share blood now, will I remember? Can we make a new bond?"

Honest, innocent. She didn't know the ways in which the vampire world worked, was new to the supernatural and the strange. She figured Eric would tell her no, would say it was impossible. That seemed to be the standard answer for these sort of requests; that they meant too much, that they did not work as intended, that they were permanent and unforgiving and far too important to waste on a human.

Instead, he looked to her like she'd spoken gospel, like he'd been sent a divine purpose straight from the heavens above. He sat up slightly, pulling her with him, cradled in his arms. Brushing her hair back from her shoulder, he leaned in, smelling her skin there, the blood and the sweat and the arousal all mixed into one.

"First me, then you," he said, pressing his palm to her neck then letting it drift downward, her skin alive beneath his hand, reacting in little static shocks. She heard the snick of his fangs dropping, the little rumbling purr as he hovered them over her artery. He clutched her to him tightly at the moment of impact, the insistent pressure of his hands mitigating the piercing of her flesh, the suckle as he drank, his purr growing louder, his chest vibrating with the force of it. To be consumed so fully was a sensation Sookie would never forget, the danger of it, the exotic sin. She felt replete yet satiated, trembling all over as he licked the wound closed, his lips bloody as he pulled his face back, making eye contact with her, his cheeks flushed and skin bright.

With one arm, he locked her to him, held aloft and waiting. With the other, he reached his forearm up to his own face, breaking his skin with a growl. She noticed his blood was darker than hers, thicker and more viscous. It glinted like rare material, coagulating before her very eyes. Eric let the bloody wound hover before her face, urging her forward with gentle pressure on her back, his body practically pulsating beneath her with his need for her to drink. She hesitated, suddenly nervous, not for the process but for the result. Would she remember everything? And, if so, who would she become? She couldn't possibly be the same. Would she be a stranger to herself?

The blood was sickeningly sweet. It flooded her mouth fully, forcing her to gulp it down. At first, it flowed steadily, enveloping her in its perfection. Soon, though, she was desperate for it. She wrapped her hand around his forearm, pulling it in tighter, sucking on the wound like it was an oasis pool in the middle of a desert and she, dying of thirst. Distantly, she felt Eric, his free arm stroking her hair and bare skin, the sound of his deep, guttural moans like she was reaching some untouchable part of him and twisting, yet only pleasure burst free. His pelvis thrusting against her, already ready and waiting for round two, though it began to seem he wouldn't make it that far. She took another pull–her last–and felt him shudder his release against her, his forearm dropping to her lap, the wound closed but still a bright pink.

It was warm. That was the most striking sensation. Deep inside her in her core, like a light pushing outward. The strange power she'd always denied out of fear, fear of the unknown and the unknowable. It grew and it beckoned. It craved attention and acknowledgement. It wanted release.

She looked up into Eric's eyes, his tender affection, half-lidded, raw. The bond was like a physical presence between them, connecting them, a string tied up in the center and thrumming. She felt him pluck it, how it reverberated inside her, his pleasure becoming her own, his wonder and relief flooding her senses, overpowering them. He cradled her face with his hands, pressing his cheek against hers, nuzzling his nose, the physical connection amplifying the internal. She never imagined it possible to be as close to a person as she was with Eric, to have all parts known, to become one. She tried to control the bond but wavered, everything exploding all at once, all of her joy, her awe and her love. Eric basked in it, the brightest smile she'd ever seen him wear gracing his lips.

"Do you remember now?" he asked, breathless.

She searched her mind, its deepest recesses and darkest corners, trying to root out any hidden parts. Physically, she felt born again. But her memory? That remained the same, unchanged. She grabbed his hands and held tight, her eyes downcast.

"No," she admitted.

She was disappointed. Devastated. At an unbreachable impasse. Through their bond, she knew he felt the same.

**Scandinavia, 999**

"First, Eric must drink from you," Godric instructed. Eric listened attentively, making sure Godric watched as he lifted Sookie's wrist to his own mouth, piercing quickly and taking a long, deep pull. Sookie flinched. The darkness of the hut shadowed her features; he could not gauge what she felt. Was it regret? He prayed to the Gods it wasn't so. He tried to speed up the process, worried she would change her mind, fearful of any second thoughts. He withdrew quickly, licking the wound to seal it, the two punctures still raw and red, interrupting the line of her vein beneath her skin. The taste of her never grew old; it was like drinking straight from the tap of life, liquified honey as succulent as fresh harvest.

"Now, Sookie. You must go quickly." Godric again, pushing Sookie forward.

"Do I have to bite him?" Sookie asked, uncertainty in her voice.

"Eric can bite himself. You must drink from the wound."

Without hesitation, Eric dropped fang again, plunging them into his forearm. He welcomed the sting; the pain meant he paid a price for the only thing he had ever desired in his undead life. It was not nearly a high enough charge, but he would revel in it all the same. He would pay it a thousand times over for what he was receiving in return. Sookie crawled toward him, examining the wound, sniffing it tentatively.

"Hurry or it will heal," Godric instructed.

The feeling of Sookie drinking from him was indescribable. He had never felt such pure pleasure; it was everywhere and everything. It reached all parts of him, like a flood of joy and sex and life. Without knowing it, he rutted against her, his arms trapping her in a vice-like grip. Godric loosened them, smoothing Eric's hair back as his eyes rolled up, panting, exultant.

"Enough," Godric said, grabbing Sookie from behind, pulling her away from the now-closing wound. Eric gaped, wanting more than anything for her to keep drinking. Needing it. He would give her more, he would give her all of him. And he would enjoy it.

Sookie, too, looked dazed. Godric tended to her, wiping the excess blood from her mouth before speaking to her very quietly and with great urgency.

"You are now his," he said. "You are connected. It is the most important bond we have and it is not to be taken lightly. Two more times and it will be permanent, broken only in death. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Godric," she murmured, her voice airy and light.

"This is a great responsibility. For both of you," he warned. Then he relaxed, shifting on the balls of his feet into a crouch. Eric crossed to Sookie, gathering her in his arms. She felt different to him, all of her feelings reflected back through their bond. It was like everything was new again, strange and foreign and beautiful. He was terrified. He was triumphantly happy. Sookie placed a kiss beneath his jaw and he trembled, feeling it in a thousand places at once, sensing the care inside her and taking it as his own.

"Thank you, Godric," Eric whispered, staring in awe at his Maker. Godric opened their bond briefly, sending compassion and warmth in return. He left them then, slipping outside the hut and into the night. Eric hardly noticed, so enraptured was he by the impossible creature in his arms. He wondered if Sookie, too, could now feel the love Godric held for them. If it floated in her just like it floated in him, permanent and singular and true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey. how are we holding up? stay healthy x


	16. Open and Closed

**Scottish Highlands, 1412-1415**

Sookie awoke to the bloodlust. It permeated her every thought, ran through every part of her body. Covered in sweat, muscles tense and convulsing, poised and ready to strike. But at what? She moaned, flipping over in the bed, the cabin dark with only hints of glowing red, the embers of the fire little orbs of warmth in the hearth. She twisted and turned, breathing heavily, attempting to calm the rage and desire coursing beneath her skin. No matter what she did, it grew stronger. More acute. Singular. Wanting.

Eric was not controlling their bond, that much was clear. Rather, he was ignoring it completely. It was like a switch had been flipped, all of his emotions running freely from him to her. She had a front row seat to his lust, to his ecstasy and thrill and pain and need. Sookie experienced it all, trapped and silent beneath the wooden beams of the cabin. A flurry of emotion that began at dusk and tapered a dawn, reduced to a steady thrum of aggression during the day, a pulsing, muted melody laying in wait for the sun to disappear once more.

It was driving her mad. She struggled to adjust her end of the bond, to deny herself the connection in an effort to preserve her sanity. Whenever she found the strength to attempt a separation, Eric seemed to double-down on the pressure to leave it open. His emotions, at first a knock, became a pounding, became a scream. In weakness, she would open the floodgates. Let all of his anger and longing and ecstasy roll like the tide into her, unstoppable and relentless. She tried to respond to him. Clutching the edge of the bed, she put all of her focus into their bond. Her reason, serious and sure. She poured her love into it, reminded him that she stood waiting, beckoned him to her.

There was no response.

Beneath the overpowering flood there was a second, smaller voice. Distant, at first. Faint and echoing. But it grew stronger; it called to her, a beacon, searching for her, hunting her. At first, she gave this second voice no mind. All of her energy was spent blocking Eric, his spikes of hunger, the rush and thrill of a victory, his lust and satiation. But the voice's decibel rose, became closer, no longer a faraway call but an insistent whisper in her ear. So close it was like having a second person in the room with her, a being to watch her pace, eat, sleep, repeat. She knew, inherently, that the voice was Godric's.

The knocking on her mind matched a knocking on the door, late in the night nearing morning. It had been months of a wide open bond and Sookie was suffering, her emotions driven not by her own feelings but by Eric's. Put simply, his bloodlust was consuming her, too.

She opened the door cautiously, sensing a void on the other side. One hand armed behind her back, she parted it only a crack, knowing only two vampires were technically allowed inside the cabin. One of the two stood outside of the door and it wasn't Eric.

"Godric," she cried, throwing the door open wide. He smiled, stepping through and embracing her quickly. He smelled of earth, of campfire, of something burnt and unappetizing. "What is happening? Where is Eric?"

Her panicked voice showed stark contrast to Godric's serious, permeating calm. He moved slowly, his bare feet padding over the wooden floor, perching himself on the edge of the bed. She realized then that he still wore the clothing she'd last seen him in, though it was far worse for wear. Ripped, torn, muddied. He'd been fighting, that much was clear.

"Why did you call us here?" Sookie asked, betrayal in her tone. Accusation. Godric looked contrite. He hesitated before speaking.

"I had no other choice," he admitted. "You know your gift has always… seduced me. It is my weakness. After centuries, I finally met other vampires who felt the same as I did. Who wanted the day more than they wanted blood, more than they wanted life."

"But I gave you that," Sookie reminded him.

"You did," he sighed. "But, I am afraid, I am greedy."

"What is happening out there? I've been unable to make it to the portal, not for years."

"It has escalated. These are no longer isolated skirmishes, this is war."

Sookie felt intense worry and pain. It had been so long since she'd seen her people, her family. Were they dying in droves? Were they being slaughtered in the darkness, consumed and captured for sport by the vampire?

"I must go to my people," she said, moving to action. She bustled around the small space, gathering up her things quickly, her hands trembling. Godric stilled her with a palm on her shoulder, freezing her in place with only a gentle touch.

"Eric is not himself right now," Godric said evasively, "You are feeling his emotions?"

"Yes," she whispered, seating herself beside him. "Godric, it's horrible."

"You must close the bond, otherwise it will be too painful."

"How?" she asked.

"It is like a muscle. You can control it, but you must focus and practice. It's like shutting a door that does not want to close, that is rusty and sticky. Little by little, you will succeed. You must succeed," he explained. "Look deep inside yourself, do you feel the connection? Like an entity you can stroke?"

She focused. Through all of the pain, the confusion, and the lust, she felt it. It was a solid thing, just like Godric explained. It took up space. She felt its hard edges within her mind, tried to press down. It barely budged, but there was some movement along with the potential for more.

"I feel it," she confirmed.

"Good," Godric sighed, his eyes askance. "Good."

"Where is he? Why has he not come back to me?" Sookie finally asked.

"He is fighting the fairies," Godric explained, dejected and raw. "As I commanded him to do."

Sookie stood, outraged.

"How could you do such a thing?"

"I tried to keep you away, I sent you to France," he sighed, his eyes glazed, staring straight ahead. "It was of no use. They would kill Eric if he did not agree to fight. These vampires, they are very old. Older even than I. He would lose that battle. But against fairies? He will live. And that is what matters."

"You did all of this just for a taste of the sun?"

"I did not know it would come to this," he admitted.

"You are who I always thought you to be. Filthy vampire," she cursed, throwing her bag over her shoulder. Dawn was coming and she would travel to the portal at first light.

"You hate me," he frowned. "As you should. But, Sookie? Would you promise me something?"

She hesitated, wanting nothing more than to slam the door in his face but listening anyway. It was still Godric, he was still Eric's maker, still the vampire she had traveled with and lived with for so many years. He never claimed to be infallible, he never claimed to be immune to his lust for the sun, so why did she feel so betrayed?

"Promise you what?" she asked.

"Stay away from Eric until the war ends. He knows not what he does." Godric continued to stare at the floor, avoiding her gaze like it physically hurt him to meet it.

"I can't make that promise," Sookie said, framed by the door.

Instead of protesting her decision, Godric simply nodded slowly.

"Then I will do what I must," he replied, resolute. He looked to her then for the first time, his eyes remorseful and pure. It felt like he was trying to communicate with her on a different plane, one where speaking and touch and vision were superfluous. A land where all communication simply flowed from one mind to the next. The last thing she saw before slipping out the door was his curved back, a parenthesis of sorrow, as he rested his face in his hands.

x

To the fairies, it was not just a war. They'd coined it The Decimation.

Over three years of fighting in the Highlands, and neither side seemed to weaken or grow less fervent. Every attempt the vampires had to trap and restrain a fairy proved futile, as fairies were taught to end their own lives before they succumbed to live in captivity. Fairy soldiers, on the other hand, began to enhance their abilities with V taken straight from vampire prisoners of war. It was a bloody stalemate, both sides sustaining heavy losses.

The vampires, however, were already dead. All they had to do to replenish their forces was create new vampires. The newborns were hard to control and easy to pick off, but their recklessness was occasionally successful in taking down a fairy or two. Fairy losses were much more difficult to replace and they were suffering because of it. Soon, they would have to stay in Faerie. They would no longer be able to cross peacefully into the human world.

That was Sookie's greatest fear.

She became a fighter. It was natural, really. She was born a finely-tuned weapon, though slightly lesser than her pure-blood counterparts she still fought with deadly accuracy. In groups, they would search out vampire resting places in the daytime. They burnt countless corpses, rubble in their coffins well before the sun set. At night, they sparred endlessly, in groups and as individuals. Niall kept a keen eye on Sookie and everyone else in his bloodline, unleashing his own power only when the vampire threat was at its greatest.

Though the majority of the vampires were newborn, there were skilled fighters amongst them. They were known: Russell. Freya. Godric. The Northman. Only Sookie knew the last's true name, knew him to be Eric. The vampires were careful to keep their prized fighter mysterious and ethereal, a power beyond the need of a name. His tall, Viking presence was spoken of within Faerie, both fear and rage the main throughlines. How he'd killed someone's daughter, someone's son, an aunt, a father. How he was impossible to stop, impossible to predict.

How he fought on instinct with unmatched speed, his abilities so impulsive they could not be combatted. Sookie did not try to locate him. Rather, she spent the majority of her time attempting to keep the bond closed.

Even though she had not seen Eric in over two years, she still felt him. Every day she fought the bond, trained herself to temper it, to close it just one inch further. Even when she began to master the technique, some of his emotions came through. It wasn't a soundproof door; it was simply muffled, a volume adjustment. It made the bond manageable instead of overpowering. A constant pressure, a presence inside her. It hated to be ignored, yet she ignored it all the same.

It was because of this distraction that she did not expect to find Eric when she did, face to face for the first time since he left the cabin and never came back. He was drinking from a dying corpse beside a moonlit pond, the white light glinting off the still water. His blonde hair shone bright despite the amount of blood and dirt hidden in the strands. It explained the satisfaction that pushed against her semi-closed bond, the ecstasy. He was consuming a fairy before her very eyes.

"Eric!" she cried, forgetting herself, forgetting the danger, forgetting the pain of the last two years in one fell swoop. His head shot up, his eyes zeroing in on her. She could see their spark from a distance. He closed the distance between them immediately, shooting up and landing within an inch of her, his face calculating and cruel.

"It's me, Sookie," she said, gripping his arm. She wasn't dead yet. That meant there was hope. He leaned in close, inhaling, the action so familiar she nearly collapsed in his arms.

"Fairy?" he asked, brow furrowed. Blood dripped down his chin and chest. His clothes were covered in it, half-burnt by telltale fairy blasts.

"Don't you remember me?" she asked desperately, "It's me, it's Sookie. Please, Eric."

The lines in his forehead grew deeper. For the first time, she felt confusion on his side of the bond. Restraint. Uncertainty.

"Come, let's get you to a safe place." There was a shock of warmth as her hand met his. He hissed, fangs dropping. "Eric, come." He growled, low and threatening, his knees buckling into attack position. She felt her hands glow in response; he noticed, his growls only becoming louder. He knew she was fairy, he would kill as he was commanded to do. "Fight it, fight the command," she implored, but he could not.

He was no longer Eric. He was The Northman.

Before he could lunge, she shot him back, his body flying through the air and landing several hundred feet away. He righted himself quickly, focusing back on her. He leapt, flying into the air, coursing towards her with unfathomable speed. She felt a rush of wind as he passed her by, landing behind her back, his fangs poised over her neck. Moments before the bite, there was a keening sound. A cry, a distraction, a second vampire. Eric whipped around to face the new, more difficult threat.

It was his age-old opponent, Godric.

Eric moved, tackling Godric to the ground, throwing him against a tree until the trunk disintegrated beneath them. They fought in a blur around her; it was impossible to tell who had the upper hand. Not until Godric had Eric locked beneath his knees could she see the clear winner; Godric had overtaken his Child once more. Eric squirmed, breathing heavily, his eyes more focused on Sookie than to his Maker above him. He lunged repeatedly even though the action was futile. The craving to kill was unstoppable even then.

Godric began to speak and Sookie wondered if he was going to remove the command, if they could flee together and leave the war behind. Run from any repercussions. Outlast. Instead, another vampire appeared. A third, joining the fray. He approached slowly and with an air of great dignity, paying little mind to Sookie off in the distance.

"You fight for the wrong side, Godric." His English accent wrapped around the words luxuriously.

"Russell," Godric acknowledged, still holding down a belligerent Eric.

"The enemy is that way," Russell said, pointing lazily to Sookie. "I daresay this is traitorous."

He dropped his fangs and dove, slamming into Godric's side. It was clear from the start that Godric was no match for the English vampire. Though he put up a valiant effort, it was only minutes before Russell dug his nails through Godric's chest, slicing a deep and treacherous wound. He threw Godric into the distance, turning toward Sookie. He stood side-by-side with Eric, two vampires, deadly, not a hint of life between them. But, instead of advancing on her, they froze. Turned. Ran.

Sookie gasped for breath, attempting to exhale the panic inside of her. She couldn't understand why they'd left, not until Niall and three other fairies stepped up beside her.

"Are you harmed?" Niall asked, examining her.

"No, but Godric–" Urgently, Sookie ran from the fairies. The tall grass felt like knives against her legs, the wind buffeting her dress; even Mother Nature fought her desire to save Godric. He lay near the pond, only feet from the dead fairy she'd found Eric feasting upon. His eyes flickered, blood leaking from the wound on his chest. He could heal, she realized. She could save him.

"This was The Northman's Maker?" Niall asked, contemplative. "Their blood smells the same." He nudged the vampire's body with his foot.

"I can help him," Sookie said, blinded by her desire to help Godric, "If he drinks from me."

But Niall did not want to help the vampire. Godric was the enemy and enemies were not to be saved.

**Portland, 1977**

Sookie's palm was sweaty. It stuck to the plastic of the phone, her fingers wrapped around it so tight her knuckles were white. Her other hand wrapped in the cord, twisting and twisting until she cut off the circulation to her thumb. She'd been dreading the call, living like it would never come. But, of course, it did. Hadley's tinny voice came through the speaker glued to Sookie's ear, a faraway, distant connection. She was close to the portal, calling Sookie on an overseas extension.

"Please, you don't have to." Sookie did not wait to beg, now was not the time to be coy. It would do no good to barter.

"Sookie, come on, look at it from my perspective," Hadley implored, her words intermixed with the crackles of the distant line.

"He's done nothing wrong," Sookie tried. Hadley barked out a laugh, hard with disbelief.

"He's killed hundreds of us if not thousands! Our memory is not so short as to forgive that."

"He was out of control, Godric's command…"

"Look, Sookie. I don't share the same prejudices as Grandfather. The war ended hundreds of years ago and we've been relatively peaceful with the vampires since then. Plus, it's not like we ourselves hadn't both used and wronged them prior to The Decimation. We know plenty of fairies who've abused V, killed for it even. Tit for tat, that's my opinion. _But this is The Northman._ He's not just any vampire. It was still by his hand that all those lives were lost, was it not?" Hadley spoke slowly, deliberately, a teacher lecturing a child. Their connection continued to blur, her voice nearly drowned out by the roar of static.

"Please, I'll do whatever you want. Whatever Niall wants. I'll return to Faerie for good," Sookie pleaded, laying all of her cards on the table.

"I'll relay that message but you know there is only one thing Grandfather wants and it is the one thing you are unwilling to give. Revenge. A life for a life. A life for many lives."

"Hadley," Sookie whispered, hearing the finality in her words.

"I'm sorry, Sookie, I have no other choice. You must see that."

There was a pause. Hadley, waiting for Sookie to say the words of placation, of understanding, of permission. But those words did not come. Instead, Sookie simply lifted the phone from her ear and hung it up on the hook with a gentle, unobtrusive click. She imagined the dial tone, ringing numbingly in her ears. The silence in the apartment was deafening, the distant honks of traffic on the street below muted and made flat. Eric and Sookie shared the apartment, a simple one-bedroom outfitted light tight. It sat high in the West Hills, above the bustling downtown, looking out over the growing city and the distant, snow-capped mountain on the horizon.

She gazed out at the monolith as the clouds rolled in. It was rare for the mountain to be out. It lasted but a few moments, the solid wall of grey enveloping it completely, disappearing from view. Sookie ran her finger against the dewy glass of the window, watching the condensation gather then drip down to the ledge. Soon, the rain would begin. It would fall like sheets, a constant, never-ending force. Its consistent cadence the soundtrack to what she now realized would be her last day with Eric, to the only option she had left. Sookie glanced at the closed door to the bedroom where he slept during the day. He would not be up for another hour or two. She had just enough time to do what she needed to do.

Silent as a mouse, she dug through the apartment, rooting out the things she'd hidden, the things they'd forgotten, the important and the unimportant. She crept through the door to the bedroom, grateful that Eric had chosen to sleep in the coffin instead of the bed. She flicked on the lamp, picking up the wooden box on their shared dresser. It was ancient, ornate, purchased by Eric in the mid-17th century before they'd left for the Americas from an old woman at a market stall selling her wares. The latch still functioned, its mechanism true. She flipped it open. Carefully, she removed the jewelry from inside, moving it to a dresser drawer.

Spread out before her were the mementos of their shared existence. The Berlin daguerreotype. A dried, pressed flower. A linen belt. Coins, fabric, feathers. Polaroids, waxy and new. She placed each object inside the box individually, cataloguing and reminiscing as she went. It seemed so strange, to summarize a thousand years in something so small and inconsequential, a relationship represented by discardable items, useless trinkets given indescribable meaning. She closed the lid of the box with a sigh, knowing, eventually, he would find it. It may take years or even decades, but he would come upon it. She found strength in that knowledge. In that even though she was about to do the hardest thing she would ever do in her life, eventually, at some point in the future, he may find a degree of solace. A reminder that she loved him and that she always would, no matter what she said.

It would be night soon, but Sookie couldn't wait. She closed the door to the bedroom, its seal tight, then flicked off the lamp. Using a faint hit of her power, she crossed the dark room to the coffin, sliding the lid ajar with a heave. Eric lay within, perfectly still, his arms by his sides, naked but for a pair of track shorts, popular for the current decade. She remembered buying them for him, how he'd examined the fabric–or lack thereof–so dubiously, scoffing at the impracticality of a garment that covered so little. But there he was, asleep in them, his face peaceful and empty. It used to scare her, how dead he looked during the day, how lifeless and strange. But now she longed for it. The simplicity of absence, the lack of even a single dream.

She lowered herself down and curled atop him; he was stiff, cold. Yet she still found comfort, wrapping an arm around his torso, wiggling into position. She didn't expect to actually fall asleep, which is why it surprised her when she awoke to the feeling of Eric's fingers running up and down her back. First gentle, then insistent, accompanied by the other evidence of his newly-awakened state: his arousal pressed into her leg.

"Hmph," she mumbled, trying to decipher dreams from reality. Had her call with Hadley actually taken place or was it all just a nightmare designed specifically to plague her? She lived in blissful denial, tucking her face into his neck, hearing the click of his fangs drop; he was always thirstier in the morning. Eric reached around her to push away the lid of the coffin, though it was no brighter after he had done so.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, min kärlek?" he asked, playful and unassuming. He moved to sit up but she pushed him back down. Leaving the coffin meant addressing the real world, it meant facing what she didn't want to face and saying what she didn't want to stay. Inside the coffin, they were just two beings untouched by outside forces. "Are you still angry with me?" he asked when she was silent.

"No," she whispered, regretting all of the time she wasted. Regretting her cold shoulder, her misplaced anger. Eric was just defending her, as always. He saw the threat and he attempted to neutralize it. Perhaps it would've been better if she'd let him succeed. Regret, to Sookie, was a familiar feeling. An old friend. She regretted not letting Eric finish the job, though it surely would've been the death of Hadley. She regretted even having that thought. She regretted her countless mistakes over the years. She regretted ever leaving and she regretted ever staying.

Now, she was regretting something she hadn't even done yet, the impossible task Eric was so wholly unaware she would undertake.

"That's good," he murmured, using his first two fingers to lift her chin, to drag her face up to meet his. She let him kiss her, careful to siphon off the worry before it hit their bond. Leaving him with only pleasure and love. She felt his surprise, the purity of her emotions growing passionate within him, the press of his arousal becoming a convulsive thrust against her. He flipped them and she felt the cool surface of the wood on her bare skin, his hands just as chilled as he slid off her shirt, unzipped her jeans, dragged them down her legs. His hands twisted in her underwear and ripped; he paused, waiting for her complaint at his actions. Instead, she pulled him closer, gripping his hair tight and yanking. He hissed, kissing her roughly, the nick of his fang pricking a drop of blood from her lower lip.

She bit him as he bit her, her blunt human teeth clamping down on his shoulder, trying to draw out his lifeforce as he did the same. She felt rather than heard his gasp, the quick intake of air over her neck. He backed up without sealing the wound, looking down at her, confused and suspicious. Her blood dropped from his fangs to the bare skin of her chest as he cradled her face with both hands. Searching. Deducing. She felt him press on their bond and encounter the wall she'd already put up when he was distracted by the feeding. He opened his mouth to speak, to protest, but she silenced him easily, her hand gripping him firmly until his head dropped and he bucked into her, seeking the friction and the heat.

She parted her legs for him, as wide as the coffin would allow, feeling relief as he slid between them for what would potentially be the last time. All of him pressed down atop her, every point of skin in contact. Even his ankles were interwoven with hers, their hands intertwined above her head. He returned to the open wound at her neck, taking another long pull as he thrust inside her, licking the wound closed, using his lips to tease and taste her skin instead. She panted, suddenly on fire, warmer than she'd ever been in her life. It seemed as though she should be burning him, yet his skin remained cool as ice, cold as the dead, a balm to her overheated temperature. She clutched him tightly, seeking the relief, wanting to erase everything she had done and would have to do. Needing to see him and him alone, the spotlight in which he lived, the golden glow that called to her, before she was gone forever.

As Eric convulsed against her, his eyes scrunched tight in ecstasy, Sookie came to a realization.

Niall would never stop until Eric was dead.

Eric picked her up, flying out of the coffin and depositing her on the bed. They remained that way for the rest of the night, wrapped in the sheets and each other, alternately fast and slow, rough and gentle. She felt every part of him, did her best to memorize even the smallest detail. She was delaying the inevitable, she knew that. It wasn't until the arrival of the sun began to pull on Eric once more that she knew it was now or never.

"Have you ever thought of breaking our bond?" she asked quietly, laying beside him, staring carefully at the ceiling instead of his face. Still, she could feel his body stiffen beside her, the shuffle as he glanced down to her.

"Of course not," he answered gruffly. There was a long silence. "Have you?"

"Sometimes," she lied, "When we fight or when I… leave. The moments are more painful, more volatile because of our bond, because of how much we feel."

"Hey, look at me." She still wouldn't meet his eye. He grasped her arms, pulling her atop his chest. "Is this about Hadley?"

"No," she said, casting a cautious glance into his eyes. They were confused but loving. It made her feel ashamed. "Yes. No. I don't know."

"Look at me," he ordered again. "Open the bond."

"No, Eric," she snapped. "Sometimes it's too much. Sometimes I want to be my own person."

"You are your own person."

"No, not entirely. Part of you is always somewhere inside me affecting things. Changing things. Warping the way I feel."

"I'm not trying to," he defended himself, a hint of anger in his tone now.

"I know you're not. But it's still happening all the same. It always has."

"Do you regret forming our bond, then? All those years ago?" he challenged, propping himself up on his elbows. And there was that word again, regret. Of course she did not regret that; it was one of the only moments in her life she felt so sure of anything. But the question hinted at something, at a doubt that he held, she could feel its persistent niggle, taunting her to confirm its existence, to make it grow. She latched on.

"Yes," she said.

His eyes flashed and she knew she'd hit her mark.

"Open the bond," he ordered again, "You lie."

"No, you have to believe what I say."

His nostrils flared, his fangs slightly out but not fully elongated. Her blood still lingered, dry on his lips, wet on his teeth. She'd broken the skin of his shoulder with her own teeth, but it had long since healed. Almost like she was never there at all.

"Open the bond!" he roared, gripping her arms so tightly they tingled, her hands growing warm in automatic retaliation.

"You're hurting me," she accused. He dropped his hands, his fangs retracting. He took a deep breath and let it out very slowly, his blue eyes burning, his blonde hair a wild halo around his face.

"Look, whatever this is, we'll figure it out. Do you need to go back? Is that what this is all about?" he asked, running his fingers through her hair soothingly. A different tactic, a rapid switch from aggression to desperation. "I know you asked to stay, but after Hadley…"

"Maybe I do need to go back. Maybe I have to leave for a long time. Then what, Eric? You wait like you always have? You put your existence on pause? I can't change this and all it does is hurt you. I can't bear it any longer."

"No, it's fine. I will wait–"

"It's not fine. Now you lie," she cut him off, her cheeks flushed with passion. "Pam told me the truth. She told me the truth and I ignored it. But not anymore. I can't keep you trapped like this. I won't do it. It's… not worth it." There was a rough pang of hurt sent her way, sharp as a dagger.

"Not worth it," he mumbled, his hands limp on the bed.

She stood up, searching the ground for her jeans and top, throwing them on haphazardly. Eric watched her from the bed, examining her actions with a thoughtful but growing panic. He opened his side of the bond fully, something he rarely did. The torrent of emotion poured into her and she staggered, glancing back up to where his utterly still body hid entirely what was happening inside. There was fear. There was love. And there was hatred.

"What are you saying?" he asked very slowly, quietly. An aching chill.

"I'm saying you must not wait," Sookie implored desperately. "You must always live."

Any longer in this room and she would waver in her decision. Over and over she reminded herself that this was the only option, that it was what she had to do. So why did it feel as though she was killing them both in the process?

"Open the fucking bond, Sookie!" he screamed, rage and pain all-encompassing, tense muscles prepared to snap.

She felt his pull grow, the role he'd always filled, the grasping hands, the need to hold on. But he could not fight the sun. Before he could employ vampire speed, she threw the door open, watery early morning light shining into the bedroom. Eric hissed and winced, rolling down from the bed and into the shadows. She wanted to look back. She wanted that last moment, the last lingering glance she would ever have. But she knew it would break her. She knew she would stay.

Instead, she took a deep breath, stepped through the door and walked into the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay in this chapter, i'm in a bit of a writing funk. think this quarantine is getting the best of me. anyone have any good eric/sookie fic recs? would love and could really use a good read. thx x


	17. Everything and Nothing

**Stockholm, 1980**

Eric sunk his teeth into the girl's femoral artery, her back arching involuntarily in response to the pain.

He was gluttonous, long pull after long pull, letting the blood swish around in his mouth before swallowing, the warm liquid coating every tooth. He stopped only when the girl was on the brink of death, when she had the least amount of blood possible inside her that still allowed her to recover, until her pulse was a weak thump, the heart a stuttering protest. The sweetest point was right at the end, when the blood came from deep inside the human, heated fully, pure, untainted. His fangs retracted, hovering over the skin of her inner thigh, one long lick to seal the wound and two fingers on her wrist to gauge her blood pressure, to test for survivability. A process, effortless as breathing, memorized and perfected. Just as Godric taught him.

Her once-flushed cheeks–excitement, lust, thrill–were pale, her hands shaking slightly. She hadn't expected it to be so rough, hadn't expected to succumb so fully. Vampires were a myth, after all. Eric ran his index finger and thumb along his lips, cleaning up any excess blood. She tasted good, young, free of drugs and only slightly inebriated. It wasn't the high quality that he was used to, but it was his new normal. Pure human blood, its variants and intricacies dulled over his many years, was only a fraction of the satisfaction he got from Sookie. He winced, his nails digging into his palm. That was not an acceptable line of thinking. Not anymore.

Hurt and angry after his conversation with Pam, he'd left Portland without looking back. All he had with him were the clothes on his back and Sookie's wedding ring, bent and misshapen, crushed inside his clenched fist. His gut response was to chase her. To follow. Even though it was against her wishes, even though it negated all she'd said the night before, even though she'd shut her bond to him. And, at first, he did. He trailed her as she fled, traveling by night, flying above nameless towns and bustling cities, glamouring his way onto red-eye planes and disembarking, always an hour or two behind. He could still feel her, her presence, the cadence of her travels, the bond weakening the further she got from him, strengthening up when he neared.

It was against all of his impulses to run the other way, against a thousand years of patterned pursuit. But he did. He ran. He ran because anything short of a sprint in the opposite direction would've had him turning right back around.

He watched from the airport terminal as her plane took off just after sunset, the great wings tilting into the air, the roar of the engine, the sudden updraft. He stared until the plane disappeared into a thick layer of clouds, wondering what it was like on the other side, above them, if the stars were bright or dim. Then, he turned and flew back to Portland. Their apartment was just as he'd left it, the bed disheveled from their night of lovemaking, the coffin slightly ajar. He opened the drawers of the dresser, finding her jewelry, her clothes, her sweaters and cotton shorts. He lifted a handful to his face, inhaling gratuitously. The scent wasn't as potent as its source but it gave him the hit he needed. Beneath his favorite T-shirt was a stack of forgotten polaroids from a few summers prior. He shuffled through them quickly, a slideshow of happiness. It hurt.

Stuffing them in his pocket, he turned to the kitchen, grabbing the knife Sookie used to cook with or to open boxes. He thudded to the bathroom, flicking on the light. In the mirror, a lifeless face stared back at him. A foreign, entranced corpse brought to life, a cruel and uncompromising beauty that made him sick yet satisfied. He brought the knife to his shoulder-length hair and dragged.

She liked his hair long, so he would cut it.

She wanted their bond broken, so he would repair it.

She ordered him to stay away, so he would be near.

It was his turn to call the shots, his needs that deserved to be met. He luxuriated in his selfish nature, the vampiric tendency he'd always tried to deny, to temper. He let himself go, let his instincts rise to the surface. Want. Take. It was as simple as that. His fangs dropped, his expression transforming from apathetic to fearsome, alive again with decision. After shearing his hair nearly to the roots, he stepped into the shower, the blonde uneven and spiky beneath his fingers. It didn't matter. He dressed in all black, jeans and shirt and boots and jacket.

The night was cold and rainy, the discrete wooden sign for Ravenscroft creaking slightly in the breeze. The were at the door stepped aside as Eric landed, his head bowed. Eric nodded, going in. Loud music, barely-clothed dancers, a sea of the hungry and the horny. It overcrowded him, enveloping his already fraying control in chaos. His fingers curled, wanting to grab the nearest girl and sink his fangs into her neck. He was used to fighting the impulse, to controlling the urge. But the time for holding back was over; he would be his true self now. His hand reached out, clutching the arm of the closest girl, a waitress, pulling her against him. She gasped, the drink she was about to serve dropping from her hands, the glass shattering on the floor. His boots crunched atop the rubble as his fangs pierced her neck, sloppy and loose. So consumed was he by his own abrupt lack of decorum, the freedom that came with finally giving into his true nature, that he almost missed the blink of his bond with Sookie closing.

 _Almost_ missed it. Unceremoniously, he dropped the girl. She fell to the floor, his fangs dripping blood on her shocked face below him. It was there, then gone. Just like that. She'd left the human realm; he knew the feeling, he understood it, but it was always a shock.

It was never less.

He looked up to see Pam, staring at him from across the club. The entire place had gone near-silent, the dancers no longer dancing, the music a low, disconcerting pulse. All eyes were on him and the girl, the broken glass and the blood. Pam was next to him in a flash, her hand on his lower back. He tensed but allowed it. The last time he'd been here, she was giving him a death sentence. He couldn't help but associate her with that betrayal.

"Nothing to see here, people," Pam called, waving her free hand in the air. "Show's over." She jutted her chin and the music's volume shot up, the dancers resumed their performances. Pam pushed him out of the club and back onto the street.

"I need to go to Stockholm," Eric said, averting his eyes from his Child. "I came to tell you, that's all."

"Where have you been?" Pam raged, "And what's in Stockholm? And what was that back there? I run an above-board establishment and you know it. No biting on premises."

Eric turned away from her, overwhelmed by her assault, walking at human pace down the rainy sidewalk. She caught up with him easily, using force to push him into the nearest brick wall. His fangs dropped, but it was a lackluster response to her aggression. He was drifting back into apathy, the emptiness inside him flowing from his core outwards. The numbness was a relief.

"Don't walk away from me," Pam hissed, her forearms locked against his chest, leaving him pressed to the damp bricks. They crumbled slightly behind him, little flecks falling on his hair, shoulders, and the ground between them. He could overpower Pam easily, throw her into the street and fly away. But why? She was all he had left. The thought caused him to seize up momentarily, a revolting pang of unwanted grief.

"One question at a time," he murmured, focusing on deadening his muscles, on going limp both physically and emotionally.

"Where have you been?"

"I followed Sookie to New York. But then I turned around," he answered, monotone.

"Why?"

"Because…" he couldn't speak the exact words out loud, how she'd wanted to break the bond, how she'd never wanted it in the first place. What she'd said that last night was a curse, dangerous to repeat. "Because it's what she wanted."

"And Stockholm?"

"It's what I want."

"Why?" Pam asked.

Eric didn't answer.

"Because it's close to the portal?"

"No." _Yes._

"You bit that girl in the club in front of everyone," she accused.

"Yes. I'm doing what I want now," Eric declared, shoving Pam away from him, breaking her tight grip. He dusted off his shoulders, the crumbled up concrete falling away. "Or do you not allow it?"

"What does that mean?" she asked, ignoring his jab, her red lipstick smudged, her normally stone-cold attitude tainted with worry. "What are you planning? If you do something reckless, Eric… if you meet the sun... I'll never forgive you. You'll never forgive yourself."

Eric smiled, but it was cruel and empty.

"I learned a long time ago that I don't deserve the sun," he whispered, reaching his palm up to rest on Pam's neck, a comforting gesture. She leaned into his touch. "I am damned to eternal night. But I've been told that I should no longer wait, that I should live. And that is what I intend to do."

He tilted his face down and kissed her forehead, allowing himself a long moment with his Child. A moment of peace, of weakness, of comfort, of humanity. He would bask in it just the once before turning himself over to his true nature, before finally giving in to himself as vampire for the first time in over a thousand years.

He left Pam in Portland, needing to be alone. He did not want a witness to his actions, uncontrolled and feral. He did not want a conscience. She'd left him be, though their bond pulsed from time to time. A question, a suggestion, a confirmation that he was still there. He rarely responded, ruled as he was by his own bloodlust. Stockholm became the playground for his endless thirst. He preferred blonde females and he was in luck. They were positively abundant, lithe bodies high on ecstasy and cocaine, vibrating to mindless music beneath neon lights and strobes, each one a meal waiting to happen. He wandered the clubs and bars like a true predator, seducing first with his beauty then his glamour, drinking so much he nearly felt sick, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.

"Are you okay, sötnos?" the young girl asked, her yellow hair straight and nearly waist-length. He glanced up at her from his place at her bare thigh, the mini-skirt she wore nudging his cheek, her tall leather boots framing his body. The new Swedish terms of endearment bored him and he was no 'sweetheart' as the word translated. In fact, he'd nearly killed her. Just one more pull and it would've been over. He lifted her legs and stood, brushing off his knees from crouching on the bathroom floor.

"You came here in search of your lipstick. You never found it. Go, join your friends," he glamoured, hardly giving it the necessary concentration. Even so, the girl nodded, her eyes empty and wide as she passed him. The thudding of her heart betrayed how hard her body worked to replenish what he had just taken, the tremble in her fingertips doing the same. He stepped out of the stall after her, the women at the sinks glancing at him in surprise as the tall, imposing Viking walked out of the ladies room, blood still on his mouth.

Sated and approaching the early hours of morning, Eric wandered the streets alone. He did so aimlessly, the tall buildings crowding out the stars, the streetlights keeping everything consistent as if it were still day, as if the night were nothing but an inconvenience designed to be overrun. He remembered the time when it was so dark even he struggled to see, a pitch black emptiness, no moon, wandering beneath a canopy of trees. He remembered dirt roads, the clop of horses on cobblestone, candles giving off only a faint glow on a windowsill. He remembered warm hands clutching his, trusting him to guide the way through the darkness, knowing he would keep them both safe. No. No, that would not do.

It had been three years since he'd last seen her. Hardly anything in the grand scheme of things. But there was a marked difference between an interlude and an ending. In the former, the passing of time was a good thing, it meant he was one step closer to what he desired: her return. In the latter, each day was further away from the last time, was an ever-widening chasm of separation, never to be closed again.

Frustrated, he shook his head, turning a corner so abruptly he nearly crashed into the vampire waiting for him in the alley. Eric took a quick step backward, a jolt of surprise running through him as he carefully controlled his features.

"The Northman," Russell grinned, his English accent blending into something more reminiscent of the American South, a curious mixture of dignity and drawl. He wore a simple, but finely-tailored jacket and jeans, his brown hair combed back behind his ears. There was a glint in his eye, one of triumph. A predator finally spotting his prey.

"Russell," Eric greeted. "Funny, I thought you were dead."

Russell let out a boisterous laugh, staring up at the taller vampire with glee.

"I thought the very same of you! But then I heard rumors of an ancient Viking vampire making an awful lot of ruckus in Stockholm and figured, why not double check just to be sure? It's been so long, old boy. Let's catch up."

"I'm not interested," Eric side-stepped him, moving to go around, but Russell's arm shot out to hold him in place.

"I'm afraid it wasn't a suggestion," Russell smiled, nearly apologetic. "You understand."

Eric shrugged.

"I figured as much."

"Please, join me for the day. I have an extra coffin or two, they may be a bit cramped for you but I hope you can make do."

"Sounds lovely," Eric drawled sarcastically. Russell laughed again, leading them a few streets away to a narrow, winding staircase that spiraled below ground. It was surprisingly well outfitted, a basement apartment with no windows to speak of. He'd heard of buildings like these, primarily in Europe, where the developers had known of or had themselves been vampires, carefully architecting a space designed for those who needed light protection during the day. There were a few empty coffins, though Eric asked no questions about Russell's coven or set-up. In his opinion, the less he knew the better.

Eric settled himself down in the nearest coffin and took a deep breath, doing the one seductive thing he allowed of himself after their separation three years prior. Only once, quickly, right before his rest, he plucked the bond. Just a quick test, a shot in the dark, a last sliver of hope he held onto night after night. As usual, there was no response. He let himself drift into sleep.

Russell was already speaking when he awoke, his fingertips drumming against the wood of Eric's coffin. Eric shoved, the lid falling to a floor in a clatter. He still wore his clothes from the night before, his leather jacket smelling of cigarette smoke and cheap perfume. He noticed that Russell kept himself in impeccable condition, clean and immaculate. He wore a fluffy bathrobe of deep red, a gold bracelet dangling from his wrist. A practical display of wealth.

"Good, I was beginning to think you would be dead for the night, too," Russell winked. He flew to the door, ushering in a frightened-looking human girl. Brunette, thin, innocent. "You know what they say, breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

Eric took the human without question, sinking his fangs into her wrist. The blood was saccharine, floral, untouched.

"Virgin?" he asked, dropping her arm.

"Only the best for you," Russell crooned.

Eric raised one eyebrow.

"An apology," Russell allowed, no longer beating around the bush, his flourish drifting away. "For the death of your Maker. Know that I hated to see it just as much as you."

"I doubt that. And it's a bit late for apologies, is it not?" Eric sighed, sitting on one of Russell's velvet couches, the human girl still being dragged nervously beside him.

"Better late than never?"

"Just tell me what you want," Eric muttered, releasing the human's wrist and crossing his arms over his chest. She tried to make a break for it; both vampires ignored the escape attempt.

"It's not what I want, Eric. It's what _you need_."

"I'm uninterested in mind games."

"You are wasting your talents and your abilities here in Stockholm. I've seen you fight, I know you to be a warrior. You have a commanding presence, other vampires will follow your lead. Plus, Godric was one of the finest vampires I've ever met in my existence and you are his Child. I want to give you an opportunity to rule."

"Power gets you killed," Eric said, repeating one of Godric's timeless lessons. "And I have no desire for it."

"It will focus your energy, give you purpose. There's an Area open in Louisiana, in America. It's rural, but you can work your way up. I myself am King of Mississippi now. Our age certainly doesn't hurt matters, hierarchy-wise." Russell looked smug, dangling the carrot of power before him. Eric hesitated, but for a different reason. A memory tickling at his subconscious. Louisiana, the South. Someplace warm, humid, where the days were thick with heat and the nights dripped with stars. She'd wanted that. "Just think it over," Russell said, affecting casual, noting Eric's consideration.

"Do you still search for the sun?" Eric asked, a challenge.

"Is that something you are interested in?" Russell replied vaguely, maintaining his calm. "Like father, like son?"

"No," he answered. "It got my Maker killed and I do not intend to repeat history."

Russell clucked his tongue.

"I still yearn for it," he admitted, "But I do not hunt it. I respect defeat, even if I am the one defeated."

Eric was silent for a long moment, debating the truthfulness of his words. He could not trust Russell, he knew that, though he was beginning to think of the old adage: keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Russell was powerful, and though he was not to blame for Godric's death–only Godric himself was to blame for that–Eric could not help but desire revenge against the ancient vampire before him. Plus, even if Russell were still interested in the fairies, there were none left to capture. Eric had only seen two in several hundred years, and now, he knew, he'd never see any again. The light was lost to all.

"I'll think about it," Eric said, standing to leave.

"Brilliant," Russell smiled, clasping Eric on the shoulder. "And, Eric?"

Eric glanced to Russell, waiting for the vampire to continue.

"The Northman was great," he said, "but Sheriff Northman has quite a ring to it, too."

**Portland, 1969**

"It rained _all day_ ," Sookie complained, burying herself under the blankets. The apartment was new, they'd only just moved in. The mattress still lay on the floor, Eric's coffin propped up against the wall. The first thing they'd done was seal the bedroom for light, the rest of the renovations and furniture-buying had to wait. That included a bed frame, apparently. "I wish we could go somewhere warm, like one of the Southern states. Remember Virginia? Virginia was so nice."

"Shhh," Eric whispered, his lips pressing kisses into her bare stomach. She felt the drag of his fangs, the question of the bite.

"What about Louisiana?" she continued, paying him no mind. "Oh, or Texas."

He looked up at her, the blanket draped over his back, his hair growing long over his forehead, a shag nearing his blue eyes.

"Texas? I'm drawing the line at Texas."

"Why? What's wrong with Texas?"

"I'm pretty sure they hunt vampires for sport down there," he said, his forearms reaching beneath her back, pressing her to him.

"C'mon, how do you know that?"

"They hunt everything else, don't they?"

"You're telling me _The Northman_ is afraid of a couple could-be vampire hunters?" she scoffed teasingly, pushing the hair back from his face. His expression solidified, a door closing shut.

"Don't call me that," he grumbled, pushing away from her, leaving the comfort of the blankets. She sighed. She knew better than to tease him on that. After all, the name was given to him for reasons both deadly and permanent. He sat on the edge of the bed, the long plane of his back toward her. She watched the muscles ripple like a wave, enamored all over again. It amazed her, how badly she always wanted him, how his beauty blinded her to all else. She crawled over, wrapping her arms around him, pressing her bare chest to his back.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, her lips trailing down the back of his neck, "How can I make it up to you?"

She leaned her face over his shoulder just in time to catch his small smile, the upturn only on the left side of his lips.

"I can think of a few ways," he murmured, eyes glinting mischievously.

"Oh yeah?" she asked. He grabbed her arm and pulled her around, kissing her quickly.

"Here?" she asked, her lips on his.

"Lower," he whispered.

"Here?" On his chin.

"Lower."

"Here?" His chest, ghosting over his nipples one and then the other.

"Lower," he managed, abdominal muscles clenching.

"Here?" She kissed those, too.

"Lower."

She did as he said, and, unsurprisingly, he was silent.

x

"What do you guys think?" Pam asked, throwing her arms open wide. The space was so barren and empty her voice echoed, the floorboards falling apart and rotting, the ceiling beams covered with cobwebs. No one had seen the inside of this building in years, if not decades. Sookie sniffed the air, sneezing once from the dust. A rat squeaked, scurrying across the floor and squeezing inside a crack where two walls met.

"It's a shithole," Eric said, slapping at a fly circling his head.

"I think it has character," Sookie offered after her sneezing fit finally ended.

"Thank you _Sookie_ ," Pam said, glaring at Eric menacingly. Eric just shrugged. "Madeline helped pick it out, she said the place has potential. And it's in a prime location."

"How much is this going to cost me?" Eric grumbled, his hands deep in his pockets and his eyes on Sookie. She wandered through the dark, vast room, tripping on several exposed nails in the process.

"We'll make back the upfront capital straight away," Pam said quickly. "Can't you see it? The stage goes here, up against the back wall. The bar right along the side, an open area in the middle that we can use either for dancing or seating or both. I went to another club and they had a VIP area, very chic and modern. I want one. And I want at least two bouncers, werewolves of course." Pam's heel sunk into wet, mildewy wood. She yanked it out quickly, moving into the back rooms. Sookie had never seen her so excited. Actually, she hadn't ever seen Pam show that much emotion point blank. It was surprisingly endearing.

Sookie made her way back over to Eric, careful to avoid any more dangerous outcroppings.

"I think it's nice. She's passionate," Sookie said to him, wrapping her arms around his middle. He looked down at her, curling her hair behind both ears. "And you'll be a business owner."

"Co-owner!" Pam shouted from somewhere around the corner.

Sookie and Eric smirked at each other, ever mindful of his Child's willfulness.

"Do you like me better as a business owner?" he asked playfully.

"Maybe I should be your secretary," she replied coyly. "A short dress, long nylons, pumps. Bent over your desk while you sign contracts."

"Hmm," he mumbled appreciatively, "I like that. And you would call me Mr. Northman."

"Yes, Mr. Northman," she whispered, watching as his Adam's apple bobbed in response.

"Stop roleplaying in my club," Pam snapped, joining them again in the larger front space.

"Pamela, this will be a strip club. I cannot imagine roleplaying would be forbidden," Eric replied, rolling his eyes.

"So it's yes then?" Pam asked, holding back her grin.

Eric glanced at Sookie, eyebrow raised. Sookie nudged him to make the decision official.

"Yes, it's a yes," he sighed.

Pam then broke her personal record for 'most emotion shown at a given moment' once more.

**Louisiana, 1983**

The Shreveport strip mall was an absolutely pathetic sight. It was set only slightly off the main thoroughfare, the stale, empty expanse of the parking lot the only separation. The asphalt was cracked, weeds growing up within the fissures. Beside the vacant storefront were two other businesses, a hair emporium that advertised cuts for all shapes and sizes, and a religious store that seemed to specialize in child-sized crucifixes. Eric had a hunch on which of their two neighbors would be the first to move out when they learned who'd purchased the corner slot.

"It's no Ravenscroft," Pam said, her face dubious at best, "But I might be able to work with it."

"Do whatever you want, I don't care. Just try not to get us kicked out, these people are conservative."

"You don't have to lecture me on discretion," Pam replied, her fangs snicking out in offense.

"I know," he sighed. Then, after a beat, "Thank you."

"I'm just glad you're back in America. I hate Europeans," she barked, though she was grinning slightly.

"I thought you hated Russians," Eric said.

"I hate them, too."

"Of course," Eric replied. "Of course."

And so began the business of renovating, a tedious and costly process that Eric had no desire to fully participate in. In fact, he had little desire to fully participate in anything. He found his new Queen lackluster at best, and that acting as Sheriff had far less torture and law enforcement opportunities than previously advertised by Russell. His new collection of supernatural beings were primarily outcasts, relegated to rural Louisiana or taking refuge within it. They respected him automatically due to his age, leaving Eric without even a rebellious coup to stifle.

Eric tried to find what Sookie was looking for in the South. Tried to see what she'd wanted to see. Wondered if she would like the willow trees, or the way the moon looked so fat and full, like it was only a breath away from the Earth's surface. He thought she might like the people; they were overly-friendly, even to someone as off-putting as he. The hair emporium left a basket of freshly-baked cookies on their doorstep one night, though they'd threatened to call the Mayor when they realized a risque bar was moving in beside them. A hint of glamour had solved that problem and they had a new batch of cookies the following evening.

He imagined she would be drawn to their traditions, the little human intricacies that were always so fascinating to her. The way every house put up miniature American flags on their lawns during the fourth of July, or how the church bells rang every hour on the hour. He tried not to think about her too often, the pain not lessening over time but perhaps doing the opposite. Becoming more acute. He would remember something small, like the way her hair looked on a particular evening in Morocco, or her face on their wedding day. Moments that cut so deep it was like re-opening a recently scabbed wound and digging deeper, starting up the bleeding once more.

How nice it would be to simply forget. To erase it all and start over.

In a moment of weakness, he did try. The polaroids he always kept in his pocket, taunting him, begging him to look through them once more; they plagued him. He decided that enough was enough, lighting a fire in the hearth of his new home, watching the flames lick higher and higher. One by one, he dropped a photo into the flames. Sookie and him in bed, Sookie playing with a cat, Sookie and Pam in the office of Ravenscroft, Sookie laughing, unaware, Sookie napping, her fist tucked under her chin. He felt a hint of satisfaction, of relief. The process unburdening him. The last photo was one he remembered clearly. It was the day she told him she was going to ask to stay in the human realm permanently, no more traveling back to her homeland, no more lost time, no more waiting. He'd taken the photo on a whim, standing above her, in awe at the beauty before him.

"What the hell are you doing?" Pam asked, appearing behind him, snatching up the photo before it, too, could be turned to smoke.

"Burning photographs, Pam. What does it look like?"

"Eric," she sighed, crouching beside him, forcing him to meet her eye. "Don't do this."

"I have to."

"You don't," she said. "Do not forget the beauty in your effort to destroy the pain. You will lose everything out of your desire to feel nothing."

Eric looked to the floor, nodded. He wished, suddenly, to get the photos back. An unhinged urge to dig through the rubble, to glue the ash together. An impossible task.

"Hold on," she said, "I have something to show you." She disappeared for a few moments, returning with an ornate wooden box, its latch closed. He remembered it vaguely; he'd purchased it a very long time ago and it sat atop the dresser he shared with Sookie. She looked after it; he'd paid it no mind. "I found this when packing up your apartment in Portland. It looks like she collected things over the years and hid them in here. I didn't root through too much, it seemed personal. Should we see what's inside?"

He paused, worried for its contents and what they would reveal.

"Okay," he said, after a long and deliberate hesitation.

They sat down on the couch together and opened up the box.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, no 2008 again. broken hearted eric has a lot to say of course. next chapter though there'll be one. thank you for all of your fic recs, by the way. let's just say i've lost myself inside ericizmine and i cannot foresee surfacing at any point in the near future. i love and adore all your comments, please keep them up. x


	18. Fear and Family

**Louisiana, 2008**

It was a mild winter, and for that Sookie was grateful. Though she was bundled beneath a heavier jacket, she still managed to wear the standard short-shorts of the Merlotte's uniform too. Sookie hated the cold. She didn't mind the snow, but that was only because it was such a rarity in Bon Temps that it felt more like a gift than a curse. The other type of cold–cold without benefit, unrelenting, with only grey skies and a chilled breeze to show for it–was the worst type of weather. As the sun went down, Sookie felt the first reachings of that persistent temperature begin.

Goosebumps rose on the bare flesh of her legs and she shoved her arms deeper within the jacket. Arlene's red hair was backlit by the low setting sun, the individual strands alight and on fire. Arlene sucked on her cigarette, the smoke blowing outward in a cloud of grey. She'd been distant since the death–or, in her mind, the disappearance–of her boyfriend, René. Only Sookie and Eric knew the truth of his passing, knew his history and his crimes. They'd decided to spare Arlene some of that pain, inflicting a more casual, familiar sentence on the poor woman: abandonment. Through glamour, Eric planted René's sudden disappearance, gone without a trace.

Sookie had anticipated Arlene's sadness, her feeling of betrayal. What she had not anticipated in her mind was the steely acceptance, the expectation that her relationship with René was bound to end in abandonment from the very start. It made Sookie feel worse, that perhaps her decision had been the wrong one. Eric had wanted to erase René from Arlene's mind completely, wanted him to become a curious black spot on her memory. She'd convinced him otherwise, told him it did not do to erase the good just to get rid of the bad. She remembered his face when she'd spoken those words: thunderstruck, then focused. He'd done as she'd said without a second glance.

But that night, searching Arlene's mind on her smoke break, Sookie wondered if Eric had been right all along.

"How are you feelin'?" Sookie asked, running both hands over Arlene's bare arms, using friction to warm the chilled skin there.

"Oh y'know, the usual," Arlene muttered, her mind flashing to her empty home, her stress, her kids running wild, the laundry not finished, the dishes in the sink, the mud stains on her kitchen floor.

"Look, Arlene," Sookie grimaced, "If you ever need any help 'round your house you know you just gotta ask, right?"

"I don't need no pity. I can take care of myself," Arlene replied nastily, affronted. She was a proud woman and Sookie respected her for it.

"It would get me out of my own house is all," Sookie replied easily, pulling back the offer slightly. "It would do me some good. Plus, I ain't seen your kids in so long, I really miss 'em."

Arlene contemplated this for a moment. Sookie could hear her tempting herself with a night out, a few hours to get her hair done, some alone time away from the kids just to watch that rom-com she'd rented, the tape gathering dust in the VCR.

"Well, I'll think about it," Arlene allowed, still nursing her pride. "I'm sure the kids would love to see you too and all."

Sookie smiled as Arlene threw the butt of her cigarette to the ground, stomping out the glowing tip with her foot. They were closing that night and it was a Friday, the rowdiest shift Sookie worked and therefore her least favorite. Things were already starting to heat up, the crowds coming steadily through the door after the dinner rush took their meandering leave. Sam stayed behind bar on Fridays, partly because the orders came in quicker than he could fill them and partly because he needed to know who had to be cut off and when. Sookie and Arlene spent the next few hours ferrying pints to tables, groups of older men, a few truckers, teenagers trying to pass for adults with fake IDs, and the regulars. Even Jason stopped by for a while with his friend Hoyt, though they'd left pretty early to catch a game playing at the sports bar closer to Shreveport.

As the rush began to slow, Sookie lugged out the Christmas decorations from the storage closet and began to set them up. Little paper snowflakes dangling from the window ledges on strings, light-up candy canes, a sprig of mistletoe that Sam always "coincidentally" placed above the employee's only entrance. She was plugging in the last of the string lights when she felt the presence of a void enter Merlotte's. She looked up, confused, not having expected Eric to arrive until after her shift ended.

The vampire in question was already staring at her, and it definitely wasn't Eric. It was a woman, tall, striking, hair a fiery red, though it was natural, not dyed like Arlene's. She held herself with an air of authority, looking down her nose at Sookie. It didn't help that Sookie was quite literally crouched on the floor, the extension cord nearly forgotten in her hands. Sookie stood abruptly, dusting off her shorts in what she hoped was a casual act. She then turned away from the vampire, making eye contact with Sam in the process. He, too, was staring at Sookie and he did not look happy.

The vampire walked slowly through the bar, her seductive eyes cataloguing the space around her with mild contempt. It was as if she were giving permission to the other inhabitants to gaze upon her; and gaze, they did. All eyes–particularly of the young, male variety–were on her. Their thoughts were crude, driven by lust, though many also felt a hint of fear. It was the subconscious aura all vampires radiated, even when the humans had not yet confirmed that a supernatural being was in their presence there was still an underlying uneasiness that could not be shaken.

"What does a girl have to do to get a seat in this fine establishment?" the vampire asked, draping herself across the bar. The two men closest to her debated internally whether they should lean forward or away. Each gripped their drinks tightly.

"Take any available booth," Sam replied warily. Sookie felt his general uneasiness, flashes of his thoughts betraying a deeper worry that she was not expecting. Between Bill and Eric, Merlotte's had seen its fair share of vampire clientele in the past few months. While Sam was annoyed upon their arrival, it wasn't usually any more than that. This, however, was more.

The vampire didn't move. She seemed to be waiting for something, her eyebrow arched skyward as she stared at Sam.

"Your majesty," Sam mumbled begrudgingly, ducking his head nearly imperceptibly. The vampire smiled, turning away from him swiftly and placing herself in a booth smack dab in the middle of Sookie's section. She bore a striking dichotomy to her setting, perfectly made-up as she was. She wore only varying shades of white and cream, from her pearl earrings all the way down to her delicate pumps. The fabric was spotless, clearly expensive, and fell off her body effortlessly, like there was no seam. It floated, gravity an unimportant inconvenience to her ethereal glow. Sookie approached cautiously, her hand wrapping around her pen as if it were a weapon.

With Eric, she never felt uncomfortable around other vampires. After all, she spent most of her time at Fangtasia with him and there were plenty of vampires there to speak of. But she was under his protection and it was his domain. Now, he was miles away in Shreveport, and Sam had just given this vampire a royal title, two facts that put Sookie rightfully on edge.

"What can I get you?" Sookie asked after swallowing down her fear, her smile closer to a grimace than a grin.

"Have a seat," the vampire said with a cordial expression, ignoring her question. She gestured to the bench opposite her in the booth, her nails long with conservative French tips.

"Sorry, on the clock. Gotta keep serving," Sookie said hastily, moving to back away.

"Have a seat," the vampire reiterated, her face no longer allowing any type of refusal. Sookie glanced at Sam warily. He still watched them from his spot at the bar, his brow furrowed with concern as he cleaned the glasses. Sookie wished more than anything that he could read minds, wished they could communicate in an unspoken way. It was so frustrating to be a telepath, always taking and never giving, always hearing but never speaking. Sookie put the thought out of her head, sliding into the booth and focusing instead on the silent void sat across from her. She took a deep breath, letting it out through her nose slowly, her hands growing warm with the effort to remain calm.

"Sookie Stackhouse." The vampire was smiling again. "Is that right?"

"That's me. Have we met?" Sookie asked, trying to be polite but finding it very difficult.

"No, but I have heard so much about you. Mutual friends," she replied, waving her hand as if it were of no importance.

"Funny, 'cause I don't know a thing about you," Sookie said, some attitude in her tone.

The vampire laughed, a shocking transformation of her features taking place in under an instant. Beneath her red lips, Sookie catalogued her pearly white teeth, the threatening points of her sheathed fangs glinting beneath the seasonal string lights.

"I forget myself. My name is Sophie-Anne, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Sookie noticed then that Sophie-Anne had a bit of an accent, something guttural, seductive and raspy. It added a dangerous layer to her attitude, exacerbated only further when her features hardened once again. "I've been dying to meet you."

"You're already dead," Sookie quipped. This time, Sophie-Anne did not laugh. She didn't even smile. Her hand darted out, quicker than Sookie could catch, and grasped Sookie's wrist. Her touch was cool, so alike Eric's yet so foreign. It made the hair on the back of Sookie's neck rise, made her spine convulse in an automatic shiver. Slowly, Sophie-Anne lifted Sookie's wrist to her nose, inhaling deeply, her lips curling into a sneer.

"Ah, yes. Just as Bill described," she whispered, her eyes closed, relishing the scent. Sookie could see the tremble of her fangs, the automatic elongation of the teeth.

"Bill Compton?" Sookie asked in disgust, trying to pull her arm away. Sophie-Anne opened her eyes but did not release Sookie.

"You don't like him," she observed with interest. "I don't either, to be quite frank. He bores me and the Southern charm he's always attempting to carry over from his human life is a tiresome trope. But, he's a fantastic procurer. He found you, didn't he?"

"I don't know what you mean. I want to see Eric."

Sophie-Anne rolled her eyes, clucking her tongue.

"Demands? From a half-blood Fae who can't even use her powers? Please," she scoffed.

"Let me go," Sookie said quietly but angrily. There was a quick flash of light, like the burst of an old bulb. Sophie-Anne released her abruptly, clutching her palm, the pale flesh darkened as if burnt. But it lasted only a moment, the skin healing before Sookie's eyes, back once more to pristine, untouched perfection. Sophie-Anne examined her palm for a long moment, Sookie holding her breathing as she did so. Sookie's hands tingled, the light so similar to what she'd seen before in the deep, dark wood, René only moments from closing in. Sookie did not have time to contemplate anything further, for in an instant she was pressed against the back wall of the bar, Sophie-Anne's fangs hovering threateningly above her neck.

Sookie felt the fear roll through her like a tide, a rush from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. There was nothing more she could do, no fight she had left. She felt drained even though Sophie-Anne had not yet bit. The bar had fallen silent, the formerly raucous crowd enraptured by the impossible scene before them. Sophie-Anne paused, took a step back.

"Unfortunately, I am the seller, not the buyer," she said, "Though how I long to test the merchandise." Her gaze wandered once more to Sookie's neck, the pulse point of her throbbing artery, the temptation of both taste and touch.

The piercing ring of Merlotte's telephone broke the silence and the spell. Sophie-Anne whipped around, her fangs bared. She growled once then sheathed them, controlling her features into performance, exhibiting only a placid, congenial smile.

"Enjoy your night, sweet humans," she said, and was gone before the door had shut behind her. Sookie slumped, resting her back against the wall, utterly exhausted yet pumped full of adrenaline, a mixture at war within her. The crowd mumbled to each other, eying Sookie first, beginning quiet, gossip-driven conversations amongst themselves. Sookie, always strange, always the outcast. She could hear their thoughts, their suspicions. How she was just a fangbanger, how she brought danger to their quiet, conservative community, how she was a bad seed. Mothers worried for their sons; could they be ensnared by Sookie's wiles? What was she capable of?

"Sookie!" It was Sam, the phone trapped between his cheek and shoulder as he waved her over. She walked slowly, tentatively. When she got close enough, he pulled her into a hug; a clear act of defiance against the crowd's growing unease with her presence. He placed the phone down on the counter, stroking her hair soothingly. "Let's go to the back, c'mon."

He put the call on hold, hanging up the phone and walking with Sookie to his office.

"You okay?" he asked after shutting the door.

"Yeah," Sookie mumbled, perching herself against Sam's desk. "I'm sorry about that, Sam."

"Hey, she had you pressed up against the wall, not the other way around. You know that vamp?"

"No, but it looked like you do? Why'd you call her 'Your Majesty'?" she asked.

"So you heard that," he grimaced. "The vampires have a pretty outdated chain of command. She's the Queen, technically. Of Louisiana. Eric's boss." Sam looked a bit satisfied with that last part, happy, perhaps, that there was an authority figure that stood above the vampire he so despised.

"Queen of Louisiana," Sookie repeated dubiously. She had a sudden, tangible memory of the smell of the Queen's burnt flesh.

"Speaking of Eric, he's on the phone. Look, Sook. I'm tired of all these vamps comin' around. This is my bar, y'know? And it's meant to be a space people can come without feelin' all worried all the time. There ain't many people here in Bon Temps and if they're scared to come I'm gonna go out of business. You understand."

"Sam–"

"Just talk to him, would ya? Ask him to keep the vamps away. That's all I'm askin'."

"I'll see what I can do," she replied, reaching for the phone. Eric was notoriously impatient, it wouldn't be long before he gave up on the hold and flew straight over to Merlotte's.

"Thanks, Sook. I'll give ya some privacy," he said, slinking back out and shutting the door behind him.

Sookie took a deep breath, working to steady her voice. She didn't want to rile Eric up; what she was about to tell him would make him angry enough without betraying her own fear and anxiety in the process.

"Sookie? What happened?" he asked abruptly, only a moment after she lifted the phone to her ear.

"Hi," she whispered, hearing the tremble in her own voice. Frustrated, she sat down on Sam's desk chair, pinching the bridge of her nose. Nothing had happened, she was fine, she hadn't been hurt. She needed to remain calm now. "How do you know somethin' happened?"

"Our bond, I can feel your fear," he explained quickly. "What happened?" he asked again.

"A vampire came to the bar–"

"Who?" he interrupted.

"Sophie-Anne?"

Sookie heard a muffled crash and a string of curses.

"Eric," she said into the phone, calling him back to her. "Eric, who is she?"

"It doesn't matter. To you, no one. I will take care of it."

Sookie huffed, annoyed by his lack of trust in her, his unwillingness to give her all of the information.

"Sam said she's a Queen of some kind. And your boss. And she said she was gonna _sell_ me or somethin'. You have to tell me what's goin' on and don't lie to me." She was stern with him, her fist clenched at her side. She began to feel, for the second time in one night, a warmth growing within it.

"I'm coming over," he said. "Don't go anywhere."

"Eric, wait," she stopped him, hearing him pause in response. She thought of Sam, his request. It was the busiest night of the week and they'd already had a vampire disturbance. A second would surely mean a departure of many of his valued customers, perhaps for good. "Maybe it's best you stay away for a little bit."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Sookie worried that he'd not heard her, that he'd already left after all.

"Eric?" she asked.

"Is this about the bond? Do you regret it? It's a weak connection, I could only feel your fear because it was so potent. It will fade. We've only shared blood once. It's impermanent, I promise." All of his words came out in a rush, with hardly a space between the sentences. It came completely out of left field. She was nearly attacked by a vampire queen at her job and he was worried that she regretted sharing some of their blood? That he could feel her fear? It made no sense.

"What are you talking about?" Sookie said, stopping him before he could say any more. "I just mean Sam doesn't want any more vampires at Merlotte's tonight. It's bad for business. Meet me back at home."

Sookie could hear his slow exhale, the woosh of it into the phone's speaker.

"I'll be at your house once your shift ends," he said quietly, the line going dead with a click. Sookie lowered the phone from her ear, staring at it quizzically. Sometimes, when Eric spoke, she knew his sentences were laced with their great history. They were loaded, bloated with importance, and they left her confused and untethered in response. She'd hoped that their blood bond with resolve some of that tension, would close the gap. Instead, she'd begun to feel his emotions as he felt her's, begun to taste the importance beneath the mundane, the significance in the casual. It was a story of opposites no longer hidden. The volatility frightened her.

Eric was waiting on her porch when she drove up, her headlights coating him in yellow light. She turned off the ignition and he was at her door, opening it for her as she stepped out into the yard. The crickets chirped wildly, the cries of the dead of night, alive with the insects in chorus. She pushed herself beneath his arms, grateful when he encased her, his nose pressed to the top of her head, then his cheek, then his lips. A cool breeze blew around them, rustling her hair and placing it back down. She shivered, her bare knees knocking together.

"Come, it's cold," he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her down the drive, pushing her into the house like he couldn't get in fast enough. Gran had already drawn the curtains and stepping inside was like being enveloped in a warm hug. Already she began to feel more herself, the calmness of home seeping into her bones, her tense evening evaporating.

"What did she say to you?" Eric finally asked, hovering near her bedroom door, shoulder resting against the frame as she rooted through her dresser for a change of clothes.

"None of it made sense," she replied, suddenly exhausted, the weight of the day crushing down. "I wouldn't know where to start."

He came toward her then, stilling her movements, his palm pressed to her neck, brow furrowed in concentration.

"I'll run a bath," he said confidently, nodding his head to himself. She sighed, allowing him to tend to her, knowing it better than waking up the next day still smelling of stale beer and cheap cigarettes. He returned shortly, helping her out of her clothes, wrapping her in a towel, simple and clear acts of care. The water was warm, her fingers and toes tingling in response, blood flowing to her extremities in a rush. She sank into the deep, soapy liquid, her cheeks flushed, blonde hair piled atop her head. He sat down on the floor of the bathroom, a curious picture before her, dressed in black leather and looking all the world like a predator, yet surrounded by baby pink tile.

She rested her cheek against the lip of the tub, reaching with a wet hand toward his own until their fingers intertwined. He didn't push her; he simply waited, practiced as he was in the art, until her breathing steadied and she decided to speak.

"Is she your boss?" Sookie asked, figuring that was a good enough place to begin.

"In a manner of speaking," he said evasively.

"I don't want half-truths. I need to know what's goin' on if I'm gonna to protect myself," she snapped, the water splashing around her.

"I'll protect you," he replied simply, no edge to his voice.

"It has to be both. You know it."

He shifted slightly, averted his gaze.

"Sophie-Anne is the Queen of Louisiana. I'm the Sheriff of Area Five, which encompasses Shreveport, Bon Temps and some other backwater towns. Though she may be my boss, as you say," he said, putting air quotes around the word boss, "She is still a younger, weaker vampire than I am. It is not a threat."

"She seemed pretty confident when she showed up today."

"Confidence is one of her many follies," he smirked.

"So what are you gonna do, kill her?"

"Yes."

"Eric," she intoned.

"What? You said you did not want half-truths, this is the full truth."

"I know, but…" Sookie sighed. "It seems like a lot of trouble, is all. Like there could be a lot of repercussions."

"There likely will be."

"Then why?" she asked, leaning forward. "It's not worth it."

He moved quickly to a kneeling position, his leather jacket dangerously close to the suds, his blonde hair falling chaotically into his eyes, his face fiercely angular.

"It is worth it."

She swallowed, letting the declaration hover between them before speaking once more.

"It didn't seem like that would solve the problem, anyway. She said that Bill found me and that she was going to _sell_ me. I mean, she didn't even bite me and she had the opportunity," Sookie continued, her hand unconsciously rising to her exposed neck. Eric's fangs dropped in response, a low growl deep in his chest. How quickly he switched from human to animal surprised her, it happened in the blink of an eye, in the reflex inhale of a gasp. "Eric, she called me half-blood Fae. They have it wrong, I'm human."

Again, Eric deflected, suddenly intent on his boot as it dug into the tile between them.

"Don't they have it wrong?" she pressed.

Eric swallowed, then met her eye with a sad smile.

"It's too much for one night. We'll talk about it tomorrow evening," he said, standing up and grabbing the towel from the rack. She considered protesting, but he was right. The water was going cold, a yawn growing on her lips, her body weak and tired. He gathered her in the towel, crushing her to his chest for an instant, his arms solid as stone around her. She tilted her head up, standing on her toes to reach his lips, feeling the exhale of his breath wash over her as he kissed her slowly once, twice, three times.

"Stay until dawn?" she asked, curled up on her side beneath the blankets, the aged leather of Eric's jacket soft between her fingers. He nodded, resting his palm against her face, stroking the skin there, up, down, then back up, until she drifted to sleep.

When she awoke, it was still dark out. Eric shook her arm, whispering in her ear quickly, something unintelligible, her consciousness half-asleep.

"What?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes with her fists.

"There's someone coming up your drive," he said, moving to the window. "But I have to leave soon. It's nearly dawn." He was tense, angry, frustrated. She could both see it and feel it. Sookie pushed herself up from the bed, stumbling over to the window. In the early morning light, she could just make out the car rumbling its way up the dirt track.

It was a pick-up truck, red, a little worse for wear but otherwise in good condition. She recognized it immediately.

"Oh, don't worry," Sookie smiled, relieved. "That's just my cousin Hadley."

**Portland, 1977**

Hadley didn't want to go all the way to Portland. First of all, she hated the rain. Second of all, it was extremely far away from the portal. And, third of all, it was a complete and utter waste of her time. She knew of the special attention Niall paid toward his half-blood granddaughter, Sookie. She'd always known of it, but she'd never truly cared. As long as it didn't affect her personally, it truly didn't matter to her if Sookie was Niall's favorite. After all, it was often less enjoyable to be in the spotlight than it was to be out of it, especially if that spotlight was cast by someone as powerful as Niall.

Ever since Sookie had left Faerie and threatened to never return, Niall had been in a fit. He'd attempted to disown her, attempted to forget about her, attempted to erase her from the family line. When that didn't cause satisfaction, he decided to force her permanent return. And, as it turned out, Hadley was the chosen errand girl.

"Why not just let her be?" Hadley asked, her arms crossed tight over her chest.

"She's a member of the family and she's with a _vampire_ ," Niall snarled. "She's in danger. Perhaps he has glamoured her away from us. I will not let that stand."

"You know we can't be glamoured," Hadley replied. She was testing her limits with Niall, surely, but she wanted him to see his emotion blinded him to what was right.

"She's a half-blood. Perhaps she can be glamoured," Niall countered. "This is an order, Hadley. Find out who the vampire is, talk some sense into her and return her to me. She will thank us for it later."

"I cannot imagine it will be that easy but I will try, Grandfather," Hadley said, taking her leave. And that was exactly how she found herself on a cross-country flight from New York to Portland, smushed in the middle seat between one human who smelled like ketchup and another who just smoked what seemed to be an entire pack of cigarettes in the airplane bathroom.

Hadley held little prejudice against vampires, had actually known a handful who proved to be quite genuine and loyal, and had no intention of separating Sookie from her lover. All she would do was talk to the pair, determine if Sookie had been glamoured, then take her leave, reporting to Niall that she'd been unable to find them. Then Sookie would owe her a favor in the future, which was a debt she'd be glad to have. That was her mindset when she landed in PDX, hailing a cab to Sookie's last known location, a small apartment in the West Hills. She'd told Hadley of it during her last visit to Faerie, how it looked out over the city, how, sometimes, it rose above the low-hanging clouds. The sun was only just beginning to set when Hadley arrived; she figured her timing was impeccable, she would've hated to wait around just for the vampire to rise from his coffin.

Hadley shuddered at the thought. Though she did not hold deep-set enmity toward the species, that was a far cry from mating with one. Then again, Sookie was half-breed, and she always was a bit stranger than the rest of the family, a bit off. Hadley wouldn't put it past her to take up with a vampire.

Sookie's surprise was clear as day when she opened the door to reveal Hadley waiting on the other side.

"What are you doing here?" she asked with a hint of underlying panic.

"Good to see you too, Sookie," Hadley greeted, rolling her eyes and pushing past her shoulder to enter. "I like what you've done with the place. It's cute."

"Did Niall send you?"

"Yeah, but don't worry about it. I'm not gonna break you guys up or anything. I just need to see the vampire."

"Why?" she asked, suddenly defensive. Hadley turned toward her, surprised. Perhaps Sookie had been glamoured after all. Why else would she be so nervous for Hadley to meet him?

"Because I do," she said evasively. "Is that a problem?"

"Actually, it is," Sookie said, her hands glowing at her sides. Hadley raised an eyebrow at the threat. Sookie was strong, but Hadley was pureblood and much stronger. Plus, Sookie had spent a great portion of the last millennium in the human realm. Hadley had not, rendering her abilities much more finely-tuned and ready for release.

"I wouldn't suggest that," Hadley said, gesturing to Sookie's palms, letting her own power grow in response. She felt it coil within her, the rubber band waiting to snap. It would take but a flick of the wrist.

"I don't want to hurt you. Please leave," Sookie said, her voice low, threatening.

"I'm not leaving without seeing the vampire," Hadley replied, dropping to a crouch. If Sookie attacked, she would be ready. Family or not. And it was Sookie who fired the first shot, a golden explosion ricocheting off the wall behind Hadley, somewhere just above her left ear. Hadley moved to action, dancing left and right as they sparred, first one shot and then the next, the light so bright it nearly blinded her. Hadley began to funnel her into a corner, a slow advance until Sookie had her back against the wall, pressed tightly with nowhere to run. "Drop them," Hadley ordered, poised to deliver the punishing blow. Sookie hesitated, just one quick inhale, her eyes darting over Hadley's shoulder an instant before the vampire struck.

Hadley felt fangs at her neck and cold arms locked around her chest, the strong, unrelenting grip she recognized from her years of fighting during The Decimation. She struggled, twisting, but her hands were locked to her sides. This vampire, too, had fought. He knew innately how to disable a fairy.

"Eric, don't!" Sookie cried, her eyes wide and imploring. Hadley tried to turn, tried to see who held her captive, but she could not, his grip was too tight. His fangs sunk into her neck. The pain was acute, specific, focused entirely in that one singular spot. She could see Sookie before her, leaping toward them, palms out and prepared to fire. "Let her go!" she cried, pressing herself to Hadley.

The vampire let Hadley drop, his fangs releasing abruptly, the sticky, wet feeling of blood sliding down her neck and into her shirt.

"Why?" the vampire growled.

"She is family," Sookie replied frantically, gathering Hadley up. "Are you okay?"

Hadley nodded, stumbling slightly. In all her years of fighting vampires, she'd never once been bitten by one. It shocked her, how quickly she was incapacitated, how abruptly she'd lost all of the fight within her. She felt it restoring now, the glowing warmth turning into a desire for retaliation, for fury. She spun on her heels, facing the vampire who had wronged her, prepared to continue the fight.

Until she saw him. Because once she saw him, she knew it was a fight she would lose.

"The Northman?" she breathed, staring up in awe at the famed, Viking vampire towering above her. The vampire they had hunted for centuries. The vampire that had killed hundreds if not thousands of their kind. The vampire they told stories of, who lived on in folklore, his fighting prowess, his renown abilities, the danger he posed to all fairies, both young and old. The Northman stared back at her, his face cold and hard, Hadley's blood on his lips and teeth. He looked every part the predator, every part the warrior, every part the killer.

"Hadley, wait–" Sookie began, but Hadley was already out the door and running down the stairs. She didn't dare glance over her shoulder, didn't dare check for a pursuit. All she knew was that she had to get back to the portal, get back to Niall.

This changed everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for your lovely comments. earlier in this story i noted the outline to be 20 chapters. the outline is 24 now. someone take my keyboard away from me. stay healthy x


	19. Offer and Order

**Portland, 1974**

Sookie discovered what summer looked like in Portland. It came late, kicking off closer to the end of July than the end of May like in most places. The skies were a clear, uninterrupted blue. It wasn't too hot, but it wasn't too cold either. It hovered somewhere in the low 80s, just warm enough to bask in the sun without getting sweaty or burning bare feet on pavement. It was in these secret months, July and August and September, that the humans of Portland thrived. Everyone lived outside, from garage sales to growing gardens to bikinis on the waterfront.

It was a shame Eric could not enjoy the afternoon with her. It was a thought Sookie used to have often, now not often enough. The way the warmth kissed her bare skin, the rocks of the pebbly beach jangling against each other beneath her towel. The way the river smelled, the lap of its gentle current running along the dark sand. The barking dogs, splashing ecstatically into the water, chasing after sticks, sniffing and gnawing. She took a photograph with her eyes, promising to describe it to him word for word, moment for moment, the second he awoke.

She lay alone, the sun beating down, delighting in the feeling. She lingered until just before sunset, the melodic tune of an ice cream truck carrying toward her on the gentle breeze. She gathered her things, pulling on her bell-bottom jeans but leaving her shirt in her bag. The temperature was still too warm, the air a caress. She couldn't bring herself to add even a single additional layer. On impulse, she stopped by the ice cream truck, rooting around for some spare change for a popsicle. She remembered when the treats first came to market, back at the beginning of the century. The advent of readily-available and easily-maintained cooling equipment changed everything, and she marveled at the ingenuity that grew from it. Freezing sweet liquid to a stick! A little miracle.

Barefoot, she walked the streets of Portland back to the apartment she shared with Eric. The night began to awaken around her, the neon signs flickering on, cabs whizzing past, transporting people from restaurant to bar to club. She considered stopping by Ravenscroft but decided against it. She had an immediate, untenable urge to see Eric. It struck her like lightning: the want, so potent, so tangible. She could taste it, could lick it like the popsicle in her hand. She doubled her pace, climbing the hilly streets, weaving around the broken glass and other city refuse on the sidewalks. Her feet were already calloused from years of barefoot summers but that didn't mean stepping on an errant pointy object wouldn't cut through the skin. The only puncture wound she wanted that evening came from two sharp fangs.

Eric was already awake when she opened the door, wearing nothing but short shorts and tube socks, his hair pressed in the back from sleep. The apartment was warm and welcoming. He was seated in front of the window in an armchair, a book dwarfed within his large palm, the spine curved back in his hand. He looked at her when she arrived and smiled slightly, then went back to his book, flipping the page to the next, the rasp of the paper loud in the quiet apartment. She dropped her bag on the floor, the popsicle still dripping in her other hand. He looked so sexy, awash in the light of the lamp, bare chest and long fingers, the tendons in his arm pulled tight, his muscles flexing in a round. Her heart sped up as she took him in, crossing the room and standing before him.

He glanced up from his book again, first at her chest, bare but for the bikini top, focusing in on the rapid beat of her heart, then to her face, his eyebrow quirked in question. She reached out and put her hand on the top of his book, pushing it down until he let go, grabbing the text and dropping it to the floor between them.

"Sookie?" he began. She shushed him, climbing atop his lap in the chair, straddling his legs between her own. The popsicle continued to melt, bright blue liquid dripping down her forearm like a vibrant tear, trickling to the crease of her elbow, pooling there. The popsicle met the same fate as the book, landing on the floor in a splat, forgotten to melt and coalesce. She placed her hands on either side of his neck, one warm from the sun and the other cool from the frozen treat. He exhaled, a suggestion of his own response, his palms wrapping around her thighs, holding her to him and down.

She kissed him, grabbing his chin, pulling his face up to meet hers, sucking his lower lip into her mouth, teasing and testing. He let out a small noise, his brow creased, fingers digging tighter into the fabric of her jeans, his torso stretching upwards to her own. She released his lips, gazing at his open face, his hooded eyes, watching her, waiting for the next move. She dipped beneath his chin, lips trailing along his jawline, down his neck then up the other side, sucking the sensitive spot behind his ear, taking the lobe into her mouth and biting. There was a click: his fangs dropping down, the feel of her teeth coaxing his own into being. But still he waited, gripping her, watching as she moved above him, around him, through him.

Her lips continued their path, moving from his neck to his chest, tongue swirling around his nipples, dropping further to the lines of his abdominals, blowing on the cool skin until the muscles came to life in an instinctive flex. He moved his hands from her thighs and wove them into her long hair, knotted and windswept from the day at the waterfront. She felt the tingling sting of a tug on her scalp as he coaxed her upwards, making eye contact with him once more, their faces parallel and level. He rubbed himself against her, a question, seeking the friction and the heat, asking if she would provide. She smiled, biting first her lower lip then leaning in and taking his own, digging her tongue into his mouth, feeling his cool breath wash over her, the tips of his fangs plucking her skin like the pick on the strings of a guitar.

"Mmm," he moaned. She felt the rumble against her own lips, the tightening of his skin as he smiled, his nose pressed into her cheek, his fingers now coaxing their way beneath the straps of her bikini.

"Not yet," she whispered, pushing his hands down. "Stay."

Eric quivered, a full body shudder.

He did not take orders except from her.

Did not submit except for her.

Did not succumb except to her.

She was the exception.

Sookie knelt before him, starting at his feet, unrolling his socks down slowly, first one and then the other. He grinned, gazing down at her. She knew they were ticklish and she teased him with them, brushing lightly with her fingertips until he pulled away, jutting his chin out to beckon her upwards. She trailed her lips up his legs, through the fine hair there, his ankle, the back of his knee, his long thigh, the muscle jolting beneath the skin. She dipped in and out beneath his shorts, his arousal present and visible through them, pushing eagerly against the fabric, begging for release. She pressed her palm to him through the material, feeling how ready he was, watching as his head dropped to the back of the chair, his jaw flexing, nose wrinkled, fangs over his bottom lip. She peeled his shorts off slowly, unwrapping him like a gift, unneeded breath causing his chest to rise and fall, the anticipation building to a head, ready to explode.

Her own handiwork was admirable. Eric, sitting before her, barely holding on, completely nude, his hands gripping the sides of the chair so tightly that soon they would crumble, he would warp the structure and they would need to buy yet another.

"You want more?" she asked, twirling her finger through her own bikini strap, testing him, teasing him once more. He nodded, a low growl in his chest. "Then come and get it."

She turned on her heel and ran, sprinting from the main room to the bedroom, seeing how far she could get. It wasn't far. He caught her from behind in a second, his cool arms wrapped around her chest. She felt herself flip, twist, and tumble onto the bed. The sheets flew up around her, her hair a cascade over the pillows, arms and legs splayed. She laughed, sucking the air into her lungs after the shock of landing on her back, only Eric in her field of vision. He framed her, his hands on either side of her face, twirling into her hair, knees propped up around her hips, his back curved. He leaned into her and she stopped him again, a hand on his cheek.

"Wait, I want to tell you something," she whispered. She felt deliriously happy, holding the knowledge to herself for the final moments, thrilled for what she was about to unleash. Her cheeks nearly split in their grin, a flush coloring them a deep pink.

"What?" he breathed, his impatience leaking into his question. She had tempted him long enough, he needed her now, he could no longer wait.

"I'm going to ask to stay in the human realm permanently," she confessed. His face froze. She could see the calculations taking place, could feel the emotion flowing through their bond, untempered from him to her. Confusion, disbelief. Joy. Hesitation. Unbearable happiness.

"No more waiting?" he asked quietly.

"No more waiting," she answered.

"And I am awake?"

She laughed, reaching down, gripping him firmly. He moaned, bucking toward her.

"You feel pretty awake to me," she replied. She gripped his neck, trying to pull her down to him, trying to kiss him once more, wanting to share their love as she shared her confession, wanted their joy to intermingle, the brilliant purity of the knowledge that she would no longer hurt him, that she would make it better, that they would be together for all eternity, unbroken. But he did not move. He was still, staring at her, lips parted and fangs out. She pulled harder, but still there was no response.

"What's wrong?" she asked, touching the lines in his forehead, feeling his confusion and concern. He blinked, breaking from his trance.

"Don't move," he requested, jumping up from the bed and returning in an instant, standing above her, the polaroid camera in his hands. He pointed it at her and she smiled, feeling his confusion replaced with an unconstrained exuberance, an overwhelming desire. The exact moment he gave in to himself. A flash of light lit the room as he took the photo, a moment frozen in time, the print spitting out the other end, its blank face a mystery soon to develop. He threw both the camera and the photo to the floor, collapsing on top of her, his face inches from her own.

"Min kärlek," he exhaled, pressing his lips to hers.

"Are you happy?" she asked.

"Can you feel it?" he opened their bond further, the emotion nearly overwhelming her. It was beyond just happiness. It was more.

"Yes," she pressed her hand to his dead heart, imagining the thunderous beat. "I feel it."

Despite his impatience, he moved slowly, with an intense, tender care. There was a need shared between them to make the moment last, the urgency gone and replaced by something deeper, something written in permanent ink. He untied her bikini, worshipping her breasts with his lips and tongue, languid, rolling strokes, tasting the warmth of her skin, the fine grains of sand that lingered, the flush of blood as it grew across her chest. She gripped him tightly everywhere, her hands finding purchase wherever she could. The love poured between them in an unstoppable flow, a river succumbing to the current, a moon-caught tide. She felt everything, each nerve alight as he unzipped her pants, pulled them down her legs, leaving her bare before him, together their most primal selves.

He sunk into her slowly, with reserve, her eyes rolling up, feeling him fill her so fully was a sensation that never got old, never grew tiresome. He wrapped himself around her, legs and arms tangling together, his lips at her neck, his fangs brushing the sensitive skin there. Though his skin was cold, Sookie felt hot, sweat growing at her temples, sticking to her long hair. She slid beneath him, their friction building with each thrust, first deliberate then quicker, their need no longer ignored. She cried out against him, her fingers in his hair, feeling his fangs sink into her neck at the crux of her orgasm, his movement stilling as he pulled mouthfuls of blood, the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed.

He growled, ripping his fangs out and thrusting once more, a crunch as he gripped the bed frame and broke it clean through, the rip of his other hand tearing through their sheets. His mouth opened in a silent cry and he collapsed atop her, a mixture of blood and sweat and warm and cold and soft and steel. He pressed his nose to the side of her face, lapping up the excess blood, closing the wound. Then he tended to her, gathering her up, kneading tight muscles, licking her sweat, untangling her hair with his fingers. She relaxed into his chest, curled up, spent. She didn't remember the rest of the evening, the narrative a slippery slope into dream. The last thing she felt was the vibrations in his chest as he whispered ancient loving words, softly and slowly, in her ear.

x

Eric left her in Stockholm. It was the closest she had allowed him to be to the portal since before The Decimation. It was cocky, really. Unwise and perilous. But they did it anyway, traveling together on red eye flights, stopping first for a few nights in New York, in London. Something transformational was happening in the larger cities. A growing awareness of the supernatural. Themed bars and restaurants were opening, no longer hidden from the public eye. Half real half fantasy, they played into the human suspicions and the supernatural proclivities at the same time. In London, a bar sold only bagged blood in any type requested in fancy wine glasses, the more expensive the rarer. Eric, they found out, hated AB negative.

The changing world seduced them both, lulled them into a false sense of security, an attitude that all were accepted, that Sookie would meet no resistance with her request to stay in the human realm permanently. After all, people were more open now. Alternative lives were accepted. Species war was a thing of the past. There were even governmental structures in place to uphold the laws, to make sure everyone was relatively safe. It was with that level of confidence that she walked through the portal, seeing her friends and family waiting on the other side.

Faerie was as stagnant as ever. The golden hue, the hazy reality, the rosewater streams. Her bedroom with its canopy bed, the sheer, flowing curtains. A vase of flowers waiting on her dresser, a light so bright it blinded. She washed up slowly, brushing her fingers over the last place Eric's lips had touched, the hollow of her collarbone, his nose pressed to the side of her neck.

"I will miss you," he'd confessed, something he'd never said, not in a thousand years of departures. Perhaps it was because he believed it to be the very last time. She, too, had lingered, giving more than she usually gave, saying goodbye for what she also thought to be the final time. It was a bittersweet moment, sadness trumped by happiness, by hope. His cold hands moved her thick parka aside and he'd leaned over, lips on her collarbone. And with that, she walked out into the snow.

Her winter gear, mandatory in Sweden, was of no use in Faerie. No sooner had she removed her heavy outerwear and had there come a knock on her bedroom door. Quiet, yet impossible to miss. She bounded over to the heavy wood, opening it to reveal her grandfather. She threw her arms around him, enveloped by his warmth and his singular smell: herbal, like cloves, mixed with the potent smoke of incense and sandalwood. He patted her back lightly, his body stiff. He never was one for outward affection, though his thoughts betrayed him slightly. Sookie heard the love within him, the gratitude and thankfulness. Niall, her one grandfather, her family. His wall may be up, but she could still tell he missed her so.

"Come, sit," she said, ushering him inside. A prepared tea set waited on her dresser and she offered him a cup, steeping the bag in silence.

"Where have you been this time?" Niall asked, taking the tea she offered in his wrinkled hands, sipping tentatively. "And do all pants now have these wide bottoms?"

She laughed, looking down at her bell-bottom jeans.

"It's the style now," Sookie explained, "Lots of dark, earthy colors, too. Oranges, browns, reds. People are very environmentally-minded, it's quite nice. Lots of movements, lots of actions."

"And you take part?" he asked.

"Me? No. But I watch sometimes. Peaceful protests are so remarkable. The humans stand for what they believe in even if the cause is futile, even if they have no power to change what they dislike."

"Admirable, if not fruitless," Niall allowed, settling himself in.

"Exactly," Sookie agreed, her eyes flashing with excitement. "I'm in America, too. The New World. People are very 'free' there, or so they think. Very open. It's a sexual revolution, really."

Niall tensed up at her words, uncomfortable about speaking such things with his granddaughter. He waved her on, pursuing another topic.

"And you are here quite soon after your last visit? Is there a particular reason? You are usually not so keen to visit," Niall said, working hard to keep the bitterness and hurt from his voice.

"It's not that, Grandfather," she said, clutching his hand. "It's just that… well… I've met someone."

"Met someone," he repeated.

"Yes, like, _someone_ ," Sookie reiterated, placing more emphasis on the word. She could see Niall try to deduce her meaning. How dense he could sometimes be when it came to interpersonal relationships, when speaking of matters of the heart. "A man. I met a man."

"Oh," he blinked. "I see. You haven't spoken of any connection in a very long while. I seem to remember a Viking that you bonded with but that was quite some time ago, even by our standards. You must be very picky."

Sookie smiled to hide her grimace. Niall had no idea he spoke of the same person, only hundreds of years later.

"I suppose I am picky, yes."

"And this man, he has a name?"

"Yes, it's Eric," she exhaled, a relief to say it aloud, to finally reveal this huge part of her life with her family, as censored as it may be.

"A Viking name! I believe Hadley would say you have a type," Niall smiled, nudging her with his shoulder.

"Grandfather! Don't be cheeky."

Niall laughed then, a rarity even to Sookie. His spirits were high and Sookie felt closer to him than ever. Now was the moment to make her request, when it felt most likely she would succeed.

"I wanted to ask you, actually," she began, swallowing nervously, "About staying in the human realm with him. Permanently."

"You mean until his death. I cannot see a problem in this, though you must return when your bond is broken. I would hate to see you go through that alone, it is very painful as you know." Niall spoke logically, mapping out the sequence of events in his mind. He stroked his beard, thoughtful. Sookie could see that he was pleased to give her this allowance, even though he didn't yet know what she was asking.

"Grandfather?" She captured his full attention, a hand on his forearm. Niall looked at her suspiciously, his tea rattling in his hands, trembling as they were with age. "I'm not asking to stay until his death."

"I don't understand. You wish to come sooner?"

"No, Grandfather. The thing is, he's already dead. Eric is immortal, like us. He's a vampire."

The rattling teacup dropped to the floor, landing with a splash and a clatter. Niall jumped to his feet as two fairy guards rushed in, hurrying to ensure their leader was unharmed in the commotion. Sookie, too, stood, waving off the guards.

"It's fine, he just dropped his tea. I can clean it."

Niall stood beside her, his face pale as death, the lines around his eyes and mouth etched in fury. It was like steam rose off him. She noted with alarm that his hands began to glow, rage directed not at an enemy but at her, his own granddaughter. Sookie took a step back, holding her own hands up in surrender.

"This cannot be," Niall said, working to control his anger.

"I love him, Grandfather," she replied, trying to speak some sense into him.

"You speak blasphemy," he hissed.

"He is a good person," she implored.

"He is not a person. He is a corpse," Niall replied, his voice rising then dropping instantly to a mutter. "I should've known, after Godric. I saw it then, I see it again now."

"This has nothing to do with Godric," she replied.

"The vampire is using you. He uses you for the daylight, he uses you to see the sun. All vampires do is take. Drain. Kill. They give nothing back."

"He loves me," she said quietly, looking down at her feet, not wanting to see the disappointment, the rage, the fear on her grandfather's face.

"You will not go back there. If you do, I will exile you. You will no longer be a part of this family. You will no longer have access to the portal," he thundered, his judgment raining down from the heavens as if he, himself, were a deity, so all-encompassing was his ruling.

"Niall, please," she protested, using his name, appealing to his humanity first.

"You will _not_ go back there," he reiterated.

"Please don't make me choose, because I will choose him. I will choose him every time," she begged.

"It is not a choice. It is an order."

Sookie smiled sadly. Though it was a goodbye, she was unwilling to say it. She stepped around him, walking slowly, wondering if he would use force to make her stay. He didn't. She sensed his eyes upon her, saw the hazy impression of the back of her head in his mind as he watched her depart, slowly descending the curving staircase that wove down from her bedroom. It was strange; she never considered her final departure from Faerie, so focused was she on staying on Earth, on remaining beside Eric, on saving them from their own countless future goodbyes. And now she was among it, living it, feeling the stones beneath her fingers for the last time, seeing the golden haze around her, her final sunset in this realm. The other fairies wandered around her, unknowing of the drama that just unfolded above them, both peaceful and at peace. For a moment, she envied them. Wished for a different outcome, one in which she got everything she wanted, and her heart wasn't torn in two, one half with her love and the other half with her family.

But there are no perfect endings to any story. That wasn't the way the world worked. It was a fact she knew, that she understood. But it didn't make this particular ending hurt any less. She approached the portal, turning one last time to gaze upon the land she was born and raised. The land she did love, as any and all must love their homeland. An unbreakable bond created at the very start, humming and alive and given as a gift. In the distance, she could just make out Niall's profile in one of the windows above. His outline as he watched her exit. She was too far away to hear his thoughts, but she could imagine them. There were two halves to any goodbye. She had only the strength to shoulder her own portion.

There was a familiar rush of wind as she landed back in Sweden, the snow crunching beneath her boots. She realized, in her haste, that she'd forgotten her parka in Faerie. She turned back toward the portal, sensing its closeness, its invisible presence. Tentatively, she reached out a hand to where she knew the barrier to be. Her palm encountered something solid, locked. An impasse.

Niall had not lied. The portal was closed to her forever.

**Scandinavia, 1415**

Eric wrenched himself away from Russell. He'd fought his Maker over a fairy, a fairy he'd commanded Eric to kill. It made no sense. There was a splice inside him, a sawed off section of his awareness that he could not access. It hovered somewhere in his consciousness, he could feel it, nearly grab hold of it, but it was elusive. Slippery and without purchase. He saw Russell laugh, his brown hair glinting bright in the moonlight. He clapped Eric on the shoulder, his grip tight as a vice.

"It seems we are outnumbered, my boy," he said.

"Godric," Eric replied.

"There is nothing we can do for him. He chose to defend the enemy and now he will die for it."

"No."

Eric moved, darting through the trees in the direction of Godric, feeling their bond weakening like a leaky basin, flowing steadily outward, growing weaker. He sensed fairies near and they fought for his attention, the Maker command slicing through him, one half needing Godric and the other half needing the kill. He was at odds with himself, at war with himself. It would drive him mad. He ran headlong through a tree, the heavy wood breaking around his stone body, branches and leaves flying skyward and falling in a flurry. He could tell he was getting closer to Godric, to the fairy and their army, to what would likely be his own death. Russell was right, they were outnumbered. And, yet, it did not matter.

Just as Eric was about to pass into a clearing, Russell came hurtling at him from the side, slamming him to the ground. Eric thrashed, pushing against Russell, yearning for freedom, needing nothing more than to answer both his calls.

"You will die if you go there. You are too great a weapon to lose, Eric," Russell said, pushing him into the ground. Eric spat leaves and dirt from his mouth, flexing and twisting with all of his effort to extricate himself. But Russell was much older and much stronger, even than Godric. There was little Eric could do. He wheezed with the effort, his fangs snapping at Russell's exposed skin. Russell, on the other hand, hardly put up a fight. He locked Eric down, stilling him without expending any visible strain.

"Godric," Eric ground out, his legs flailing beneath Russell's hold.

"It will be over soon," Russell said, very seriously. "All of it will."

Eric, in his deluded state, could not discern the truth behind his words, what code lay within them. He knew of only two things: his Maker and the fairies. Both beckoned him, unstoppable, a Siren's call. He needed to save, he needed to kill. He needed.

"You fought for me well, Eric. I will not forget that."

Eric growled, pushing once more with all of his strength. He felt Russell's grip slacken slightly, surprised by the give he was allowing. Eric flipped Russell on his back and stood, prepared to fight. But it was of no use. There was a terrible ripping within him, an unbearable pain in his core. A rush of memory unlocked like a broken dam, a flood of knowledge. He looked around himself, confused, lost. How had he gotten to this forest? Where was Sookie? And Godric? He clutched at his chest, suddenly alone, truly fearful for the first time in his immortal life. Then he did what he instinctually had to do: he ran.

x

Sookie knelt beside Godric, holding his hand tightly within her own. He was limp, eyes flickering with slight awareness, the gash in his chest deep and blooming with dark red blood.

"I can heal him," she cried, staring up at Niall, tears in her eyes.

"He is the enemy," Niall replied, his face cold as stone, unfeeling, ready to exact punishment.

"He saved me," she tried, digging her fingernails into her skin, attempting to draw her own blood to the surface.

"Nevertheless," Niall murmured, his hands glowing hot.

"No!" she screamed, throwing herself over Godric, shielding him with her body.

"Sookie, step back," Niall ordered.

"No," she sniffed, burying her face in his neck. "I can heal him."

"Sookie." It was Godric. He spoke softly, hardly a whisper. "I must die now. The command will break. The Northman will be free. The war will end."

"No," Sookie said for the third time, holding his face between her hands. "There has to be another way. You can break the command yourself. We can run."

Godric shook his head slowly.

"I have pursued my vice and I will pay the price. Not you. Not my Son."

"Godric," she whispered, clutching him tighter to her. She tried to reach their bond, that distant connection they held as Eric's Maker. It was faint, like a ghost within her. Already a hazy memory.

The warm arms of a fairy wrenched her back, pulled her away from the dying vampire. She could only watch as Niall approached, his hands glowing white hot, so bright she squinted, like staring directly into the sun on the hottest day of the year. It was the kiss of death, a light so blinding it extinguished. She gasped when her grandfather hit Godric with the killing blow, felt the flame inside her wink out, leaving a gap, a swollen void, an emptiness.

The fairies retreated, leaving her alone in the field, the burnt corpse of Godric still smoking. Distantly, she could sense the sun threaten to rise, the beginning of a new day, the great orb apathetic to the suffering beneath it. She pushed herself to a standing position, drawing a hand down her face in resolution. She would not cry. She would not mourn. Not yet.

First, she had to find Eric.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who would've thought it would be the year of our lord 2020 and we'd be quarantined in a pandemic, i'd be writing ACTION of all things, and stephenie meyer would release a new Twilight book. NOT ME, that's who! appreciate your comments. ty for each and every one. stay safe x


	20. Honor and Duty

**Stockholm and Faerie, 1977-1985**

Hadley was having second thoughts.

It was unlike her to do so, but, alas, it was happening all the same. She nursed her foamed latte in her hands, staring out the windows of the coffee shop to the snowy scene before her. Though it was winter, the weather outside was unseasonably warm for Sweden. Melting ice dripped from the eaves, landing in little splashes atop the accumulated snow below. City dwellers dodged the wayward liquid, ducking their heads on instinct as they entered each awning. Overnight, the water would freeze atop the snow banks and become a hazardous layer of ice, a trap laid for the next morning's weary commuters.

Hadley took a sip of her coffee, the warm liquid sliding generously down her throat, the heat tingling against her numb fingers. She wasn't dressed for the cold, wasn't prepared for a Scandinavian winter. Her intention–to see Sookie in Portland and to abruptly return to Faerie afterwards–had not included an extended stay in a country so closely situated to the North Pole. But her plans were dashed to smithereens, sucked from her neck by a vampire's fangs. _The Northman_ , she thought. It was a true marvel, yet it explained so much. How they were never able to find him, how he always seemed to be one step ahead of all of their search parties, how eventually the expenditure to locate a single vampire became too great, how the fairies had actually called the whole thing off, presuming he'd met the true death. When, in reality, it had been Sookie. Sookie giving him the information, Sookie sheltering him, sequestering him away, Sookie protecting him from her own family. Hadley's hand drifted to her neck, the wound there still fresh. She'd tied a scarf over the puncture holes but that hadn't stopped her from examining the scabs closely in the mirror. An injury so small and seemingly inconsequential could've ended her life with nothing she could do to stop it.

Remarkable. It was truly remarkable. Unsurprisingly, her phone call with Sookie had not gone well. The girl was lost. Hadley could see it the moment she opened the door to that apartment in the West Hills, her defensiveness followed by her surprising aggression. Sookie had never been one to initiate violence, it was not in her nature. Yet she was the one who fired the first blow. She was the one who unleashed her power on her own cousin. She was the one who valued a vampire above her own family. But, on the other end of the spectrum, she'd saved Hadley when the vampire could've easily killed her. Sookie's problems would've been over had she let him, at least for a little while until suspicion grew. It was a story of opposites, a puzzle Hadley couldn't figure out.

Whose side was Sookie on? To whose allegiance was she sworn? Was it possible that it could be both? No, it was not possible. It was supposed to be simple. Vampires, fairies. There could only be loyalty to one. There was no middle ground; there wasn't even abstention. Their storied history prevented it, the enemy lines cut too deep. It should've been black and white. But, Hadley realized after her phone call with Sookie, the world was beginning to look awfully gray.

x

Sookie deplaned on the tarmac in Stockholm. The icy wind bit at her exposed skin, the roar of an engine ringing in her ears as another plane thundered down the runway. She could feel Eric had been following her, his presence in their bond ebbing and flowing like the tide, stronger then weaker then stronger again. It was a relief when, after landing, she felt his distance. He hadn't followed her across the Atlantic, then. Hadn't trailed her to the portal. Thank the gods. That would've meant both Sookie and Pam had failed in their attempts to save his life. It would've meant her plan was foiled before it could truly begin. Nothing would've held Niall back had he known The Northman stood right outside his front door, his hand raised to knock.

There was still one devastating hitch in her plan. Sookie did not have access to the portal, her status revoked from Faerie. Ex-communicated. Everything depended on whether or not Hadley stayed in Stockholm, in the human realm. If she had, then Hadley could let her in. If not, all was lost. There was something about the tenor in which Hadley spoke on the phone, the tinge of regret in her voice, that left Sookie with a small spark of hope. She hoped that Hadley would not enter Faerie without her, would not tell Niall of Eric without at least giving Sookie the opportunity to defend herself. Perhaps Sookie would have a chance to change Hadley's mind, give her all of the context she was missing to make an informed decision.

It was that line of thinking that fueled her travels, pushed her farther away from Eric even though it hurt like a dagger thrust straight into her chest to do so. To leave him was unbearable, to know that it was likely permanent neared impossible. But it could save his life. That was what mattered.

A little bell jingled above Sookie's head as she entered the coffee shop in downtown Stockholm. Her hair was wet, drops of melted water running through the strands. The place was busy, crowded, the Swedes enjoying their afternoon fika in clusters throughout the space. It was strange to hear their thoughts. She'd spent so long in America that she was unused to the foreign tone, the deeper octaves, the guttural vowels. She was struck by how similar the language was to its roots, how the variances of time felt insignificant. Sookie took a seat in the back, sheltering herself in the shadows, sipping her tea. If Hadley were here, she would come.

Gradually, the coffee shop began to empty out until it was only her and a few stragglers: a man working on his computer, a girl reading a book and stirring her tea absently with a pointer finger on the tip of her spoon. Sookie forced herself to remain calm, to be patient. Hadley was her family, she had to have faith in her family.

Sure enough, the little bell jingled again only an hour before the shop's closure. Hadley ducked in, pulling off her hat, her blonde hair unraveling around her face. She saw Sookie immediately, an awareness in her thoughts that comforted Sookie. Hadley had been expecting her. Again, something to find hope in. Hadley ordered a drink and joined Sookie at her table in the back, sliding onto the wooden seat, the legs scraping against the floor beneath her. She wore a scarf tied tightly around her neck. Sookie knew that it was not due to the cold: Hadley was hiding her battle scar.

"You came," Hadley said by way of greeting, tugging at her scarf.

"You waited," Sookie replied.

"I didn't feel like we had the chance to talk back in Portland. Things escalated pretty quickly," Hadley said.

Sookie swallowed, feeling a solid lump of worry stick in her throat. Hadley was being cool with her, distant. She tried to search her cousin's mind but the fairy had lowered her shields, punting Sookie right back out before she reached the root of any thought.

"You're right. And I really am sorry for that. I reacted poorly, it got out of hand," Sookie mumbled, running her finger along the edge of the cup in slow circles.

"He could've killed me," Hadley said, referring to Eric's bite. Sookie winced, remembering how broken Hadley looked, like a crumpled-up doll dangling from Eric's arms, the hatred in his eyes, the instinctual predator unleashed. He was cold and unfeeling, but it was borne from a place of loyalty for his own. Of protection. Sookie knew that now, but it didn't erase the image in her mind, the one of her cousin on the brink of death by the hands of the man she loved.

"He could've, yes," Sookie agreed, for there was no other response to be said.

"Yet you saved me. You told him to stop and he listened."

"Yes," Sookie replied.

"He has killed so many of us. As I told you on the phone, I can't reconcile that. The amount of us that died by his hand alone. We were nearly extinct, Sookie." Hadley spoke emphatically, leaning toward Sookie as if the closeness would help Sookie understand her point of view clearer, would envelop her in the same mindset.

"I know," Sookie whispered. "But there are things you don't understand. He was under the command of his Maker, Godric. There was nothing he could do to break that command. No free will. He was not operating under his own volition. I've seen it first hand. If Godric had commanded him to kill himself, Eric would. He nearly has in the past."

Hadley sighed, focused intently on her own coffee.

"I believe you, I just…" she trailed off. "We hunted him and you worked against us. That's traitorous, Sookie."

"I had no choice," Sookie replied, wincing again.

"There are always choices," Hadley snapped back.

"And what is yours?" Sookie asked, just as quickly. "You will tell Niall? You will have Eric killed?"

"We must tell Niall everything and let him decide. I do not wish to be judge nor jury."

"Just executioner," Sookie mumbled sadly.

"I do not wish that, either," Hadley said. "I wish for justice."

Sookie looked up at the exposed beams of the ceiling, noting the knots in the wood, carved into authenticity.

"I love him, Hadley," Sookie admitted without meeting her eye. "I have for nearly a thousand years, since I healed him as a human. Since I gave him a piece of our gift. There is a part of us inside of him, too. Killing him will be like killing one of our own."

Hadley reached across the table and grasped Sookie's hand. Sookie felt the tenderness in her touch, the warm of her skin a shock to Sookie's senses. Sookie held on tightly, the only anchor she had left in the world, the only tangible thing to ground herself.

"We will tell Niall, but he will understand. He is not unjust," Hadley said, her voice confident and sure. Sookie did not feel the same.

"I hope you are right. I truly, truly hope."

Sookie and Hadley did not spend the night in Stockholm. Instead, they traveled straight to the portal. Sookie was surprised to realize that without access to the entry point, the way became lost to her. She had to rely entirely upon Hadley's navigation, her cousin traipsing through the deep snow with relative ease. Sookie's internal guidance was gone, the light glow of her palms only succeeding in preventing the occasional trip and fall over an outlying branch or rock. Sookie yearned to open her bond with Eric, wanted more than anything to have one last connection before disappearing into the Faerie realm. She held back. She would not tease him so, would not beckon him to her. It was cruel, it was dangerous, and it would negate all of the work she had done to keep him away thus far.

But that didn't mean the hurt was any less, the shock of their bond muting to a whisper any easier to bear. Over the top of her despair, Sookie realized that there was an inherent awareness of her presence. All of the other fairies were looking at her with caution, their eyes casting furtive glances, toward her and then away. There was muted conversation, flickering undertones. Her ex-communication must have been common knowledge, yet, suddenly, the fallen hath returned. Sookie stayed close to Hadley, keeping her eyes trained to her feet but her mind searching outward. The sentiment was mixed: fear, confusion, surprise, anger, happiness. Most focused on memory, images of Niall's furious rage, his outbursts, his sudden introspection, his disappearance. They knew it all to be wrapped up in Sookie, but they did not know the extent nor the reason.

"We should wait until he comes to us," Hadley said. They were in a nook off to the side of the great hall, where the winding passageways lead to a honeycomb of various bedrooms and offices. "He will not be susceptible if we go to him. Let him hear the gossip, learn of your arrival. Then we will talk. We both know he does not take well to surprises."

Sookie nodded solemnly. Whatever advantage she could get, she would take.

"Can I rest with you?" Sookie asked. She could not bear to be alone, not that night. Hadley nodded and they walked together to her room. It was similar to Sookie's: minimal, a potted hyacinth resting on the windowsill. She smelled its petals, the familiar sweetness. Sookie curled around her cousin that night, a position natural to them both from childhood. An imprint of a memory. Beneath Sookie's palm, she could feel the slow and steady beat of Hadley's heart. It was a sturdy reminder of her aliveness, in direct opposition to the two scabbed wounds at her neck. Sookie shuddered, pulling her cousin closer, the warm body foreign and strange but overridden by the comfort of family.

The next day was suspiciously quiet. Sookie spent it trailing Hadley through her duties, hearing not a peep from Niall. People still cast glances her way, still made their opinions known under their breath and in their minds, but there wasn't a peep from the man in charge. The tension grew within Sookie until it felt like a physical thing manifested, a mass inside her that took up space. Perhaps he was toying with her, perhaps this was part of his punishment. After all, she was defying his orders by being back in Faerie at all.

Three more days passed in this way. Three nights of restless sleep, mornings of casual judgement, afternoons of anxiety. On the fourth day, there was a knock on Hadley's door, two guards summoning them both to Niall's main office. The girls looked at each other, an expression of solidarity shared between the two. It was the moment of truth. It was now or never. Sookie saw an emotion flicker through Hadley's eyes but she couldn't quite place it, her thoughts a warbling mixture of fear and pity. She searched for hope but she could not find it.

Niall sat behind a large oak desk, his hands steepled. Sookie expected his fury but was surprised with his joy. He rose quickly, moving across the office to embrace Sookie of his own accord. It was so out of character that Sookie stiffened up, her hands wrapping around her grandfather's elderly figure with trepidation.

"Hadley, you have my infinite gratitude," Niall said, speaking above Sookie's shoulder, his face somewhere near her hair. Sookie pulled back, searched her grandfather's expression quizzically. He was overjoyed, relieved. He thought she was there intentionally. He thought Hadley had saved her from Eric. The revelation made her tense up, the realization like acid boiling in her stomach.

He thought she had changed her mind.

"Grandfather, I think we need to have a talk," Hadley replied, her voice stern. Niall looked between his two granddaughters and nodded, gesturing for them to take a seat opposite his desk.

"I was away on business, but I'm pleased to find you back with your family, Sookie. I had faith Hadley would help you find your way."

"Grandfather, you don't understand," Sookie said urgently. Hadley placed a hand atop Sookie's, silencing her.

"I went to Sookie as you instructed," Hadley began, speaking at a deliberate pace. She remained calm, stoic. "I found her with the vampire. I first need to say that Sookie has _not_ been glamoured. That is very important. Whatever she says is true and we must believe her."

Niall's countenance grew stern, his hands gripped to fists before him.

"Go on," he prompted.

"Do you remember the Viking human I healed? The one I saved?" Sookie asked, jumping in. "All those years ago?"

Niall nodded warily.

"That was Eric," she admitted. "I had thought he would die a natural death. I was prepared for that. But then he was changed by Godric."

"Godric," Niall repeated. Sookie nodded, watching as the realization grew on her grandfather's face. "Godric is Eric's Maker. Therefore, Eric is The Northman." It was like watching a student puzzle on a difficult math question: impossible, then all at once.

"Yes," Sookie whispered.

"Take off your scarf," Niall snapped, his attention suddenly focused on Hadley. Hadley tensed, glancing toward Sookie, her face pale. "Now. It is an order." Sookie waited with bated breath as Hadley untied her scarf, revealing her neck and the two puncture wounds within it.

"He bit you," Niall snarled.

"Yes, but he stopped. He could have killed me but he did not," Hadley replied, surprisingly defensive. Sookie straightened up, preparing to reinforce the argument.

"He does not want to kill the fairies. He never did. He was compelled by Godric. Did you ever question why the killing stopped so abruptly once Godric died? The bond was broken. Why else would the war suddenly end?"

"The war?" Niall laughed, abrupt and hard. "The _war_? You even speak like them. It was not a war, it was a Decimation. He took thousands of lives, cruelly and without remorse. We hunted him down but could not find him. Am I right to understand that is because you hid him from us? He was always one step ahead due to your influence?"

Reluctantly, Sookie nodded.

"I love him," Sookie tried once more, the old argument that had already failed her once.

"She does, I saw it," Hadley said. "Please, Grandfather. I wanted to tell you the truth, I owed you as much because of who he is, what he's done. But I implore you to see reason, to take higher ground. What is the human saying? An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind."

"I will hear no more of this," Niall growled, standing abruptly. His hands glowed white hot, his stance powerful. He left the room with a thunderous gait, his guards trailing behind, flustered and clumsy. Sookie stood to chase him down, though Hadley stayed seated. Her face held only pity and disappointment.

"Is he going to kill him?" Sookie asked desperately, the tumult in her grandfather's mind too potent to deduce.

"I think so, Sookie," Hadley replied sadly. "Perhaps it is for the best. You will move on."

Sookie blinked. It was illogical, it was not understandable. There was no moving on. Without Eric, there was nothing. Sookie ran from the room, flying past the crowds to chase her grandfather down. He was making his way to the portal, arming himself as he did so. He hardly ever went to the human realm and his current actions were causing quite the scene. The fairies watched openly as their leader grew red with rage, his prized half-blood granddaughter trailing behind fruitlessly.

She had but one option left. It was her last resort, but it would prove to Niall he would not have to kill Eric. After all, you cannot kill someone who is already dead.

Sookie stopped, her hands glowing white hot. Pure-blood fairy power, so bright was the light. It came from the deepest part of her, the most potent, driven from the purest emotions: desperation, hope and love. Had she expelled the light outward, it would've been devastating. Deadly to any within her radius. But she did not do that. Instead, she turned her palms against herself, to the spot right below her heart where her bond with Eric flourished. In her mind, she grabbed hold of the cord that bound them, the taut, seemingly indestructible force. And then, with the light she bore, she cut it.

Her scream echoed through the courtyard, the high, keening wail of indescribable pain. The last thing she saw before darkness overcame her was her grandfather's face, the fear and surprise in his eyes, as he dropped everything and rushed to her side.

**Louisiana, 2008**

"That's just my cousin Hadley," Sookie smiled, her sleepy voice calm and at peace. Her face was creased on one side by the pillowcase, her hair still slightly damp from the bath. Between Sophie-Anne, Sookie's lack of knowledge of her own heritage, his piss poor attention to Fangtasia and his tepid at best new bond, the last thing he needed was another visit from Sookie's fucking cousin Hadley. Eric growled, his fangs dropping down with a snap. Sookie looked at him, surprise waking her more fully.

"I must leave," Eric said as the truck rumbled further up the drive. "Do not tell her of me. Don't mention a thing."

"But, Eric–" she protested, confusion on her face as her eyes darted between the window and his own serious expression.

"Do what I say," he snapped, rudely enough that Sookie took a step back. He breathed out once through his nose, pushing open the window. He was about to hurtle himself out when he made an impulse decision, leaning over and kissing Sookie hastily. She was closed to him, her lips tight, but he had to do it. He did not know what this meant, what Hadley's arrival could signal. Would she be dragged back to her realm once more? He didn't know how long it would be before he saw her again. He touched Sookie's full lower lip once then flew out the window, straight up toward the last of the flickering stars.

Below him, Hadley was outside of her truck and staring skyward. He cursed under his breath. His hesitation had been a mistake. She had seen him, of that he was sure.

x

Eric hadn't heard from Sookie in a week. He paid careful attention to their bond, testing its strength at periodic times of the night. She was still near, in and around Bon Temps. He wished to call, to simply show up, but it was too dangerous. He sat atop the dais at Fangtasia, replaying the last moments in his mind. Hadley's unreadable face beneath him, her eyes not keen enough to see him at the distance he hovered, but surely astute enough to witness his hasty departure through the window. He rested his chin in his hand, gazing out at the crowd before him but seeing nothing, no one. The loud music was hardly a tickle at the back of his mind, a minor inconvenience. He watched as a human crawled up to where he sat, quite literally on hands and knees.

It was a man, middle-aged, balding, his lower lip quivering with need. There was a fantasy many humans had, wherein they prostrated themselves before a vampire and the vampire gave in, blessing them with eternal life. Many vocalized it to him, most often the women, before, during or after sex. Most did not act upon it, did not attempt to play out the fantasy in reality. Eric watched as the man continued his advance, crawling on the dirtied floor of the club, unable to express anything toward him other than apathy. The man reached out a bony, knuckled hand, placing it atop Eric's boot. The silver sole glinted, and Eric wished, for a moment, that the human were vampire, that he could press the sole into his cheek and smell the burnt flesh.

Instead, he waved his hand with a sigh.

"Madeline," he murmured. Madeline was by his side, her hair pinned tightly back, her lips painted a gothic black. She was trying out a new look, a new persona. She preened, placing her hand on Eric's shoulder. Though they were not family like Eric and Pam, he let her do it anyway. Their history beget allowances. "Take care of this man."

"Oh, this one doesn't swing that way," Madeline smiled coyly.

Eric rolled his eyes, landing them on Madeline. She saw the seriousness in his expression and tampered her playfulness.

"I'll get rid of him," she said, switching to Swedish. "There's someone at the bar asking about you, by the way. She smells like Sookie but even better, if you know what I mean. Most of the vamps here don't know what she is, but that won't stop them from pursuing her for dessert."

Eric hissed, flashing to the bar. Sure enough, Hadley awaited him, her presence so similar to Sookie's that he was surprised he hadn't noticed her arrival. The other vampires nearest were eying her suspiciously, nostrils flared in response to her scent.

"Are you baiting me? Do you wish me to correct the mistake I made last time we met?" Eric asked, his fangs out and low. To her credit, Hadley did not show fear. She locked her shoulders in what, to Eric, was a very familiar and recognizable gesture. Courage in the lion's den. If Eric had not hated her so much, he would've been impressed.

"You never came to Sookie, so I came to you. Can we talk somewhere more private?" she asked, not answering his question. Eric met Pam's eye, hovering a few feet behind Hadley. She tilted her chin up in question. Eric shook his head. He would take care of this alone, as he should have the first time.

"We can," he sneered. "After you." He gestured toward the back door. As any good Sheriff, he had a particularly well-outfitted law enforcement set-up beneath the bar. He imagined putting it to use, imagined taking out his revenge upon the delicious fairy walking before him, her blonde hair swaying down her back. He would enjoy it, of that he was sure.

Instead of going down to the basement, they went to his office. Eric decided that they would talk first. He wanted to know her motives in seeking him out. It was reckless, even by fairy standards. Then he would proceed with his instinctual desires. He particularly looked forward to hearing her beg.

"Why have you come?" he asked, shutting the door behind him with a click. She hovered uncomfortably in the middle of the room as if unsure where to go from there. "You walked into a bar full of vampires. Are you so confident in your own power?"

"Not at all," she said, smiling slightly. "In fact, I believe it would only take one vampire to kill me and he stands in the room with me now. I came to apologize."

Eric was silent, waiting, listening, his hands clenched to strike at his sides, his fangs down. Some things were not to be stopped when an enemy was in the room, no matter if that enemy was speaking gibberish.

"Seeing you fly out of her window, it was like seeing an angel fallen from Heaven. I thought you were dead. We all did."

"I am no angel," he spat, a low rumble still in his throat, a threat. "And I am very much alive."

"You hate me. I understand that. I more than understand it," Hadley sighed, throwing herself down on the couch with little regard to the true danger she was in. "I never should've let old wounds draw fresh blood. She told me how you were compelled. She explained everything and I still betrayed her. And for what? Honor? Family? Duty? What is honor with no moral code, what is family with no love, what is duty with nothing to show for it?"

"You thought I was dead?" he asked, referring to her earlier declaration, caring not for her explanations.

"We all did. Sookie proved it with the broken bond. We all thought your death caused it, but that wasn't what happened, was it? She did it to herself. She broke it herself. Niall was on his way to kill you. He would've stopped at nothing. So Sookie killed you first. And though she technically lived, it killed her, too. It tore you two apart. I am so sorry, Eric."

Eric swallowed heavily.

"She doesn't remember anything," he managed in carefully affected monotone.

Hadley looked up then, met his eye.

"I know. It had to be done. She was in so much pain."

"Can you reverse it?" he asked, feeling the tension inside him rise, an arrow drawn back to the chin, the bowstring taut.

"I don't know. We thought it best she stay in the human realm, live a normal life. You know she chose Louisiana?" Hadley laughed then, though it was hard with disbelief. Sarcastic. "I think she was choosing you all over again, even though she had no idea."

Eric darted to her, locking himself around her biceps, disabling her weapons, his other hand poised to break her neck. It would be instantaneous, she would feel no pain. His muscles trembled, aching for the blow. Revenge was sweet on his tongue, a fine wine to bathe in.

"Will you kill me?" she whispered, her blue eyes so familiar, her blonde hair the same to the touch, her scent so potent his mouth watered.

"I want to," he growled. He imagined his fangs sinking into her flesh. He remembered the taste perfectly.

"But will you?"

 _But would he?_ He thought of his myriad identities through his life. A Viking prince. A vampire. A Son. The Northman. A Maker. Sheriff Northman. The titles he wore, the responsibility he bore with them. He found himself preferring Eric to them all, and the way she looked at him when she said his true, given name. Eric loosened his grip and she dropped from him, landing on her feet, her hand at her neck protectively.

"I do not forgive you," Eric spat, "But I will spare you." He averted his eyes, forcing himself to stay true to his statement. From his peripheral, he saw Hadley's accepting nod. From her bag, she removed a little card, placed it on his desk.

"If she ever needs me… if _you_ ever need me… I will always answer the call," she said, tapping the paper once. Eric let her leave, stewing in his own bloodlust, running the lines they'd spoken through his head over and over again. Sookie broke the bond. She broke it herself. Eric's hand drifted to the place below his heart where their bond was once strongest. He remembered the moment it happened perfectly. There was no forgetting that level of pain.

Eric picked up the little piece of paper on the desk. It was a phone number, an international line, hastily written down. He wanted to tear it to pieces. Instead, he put it in his pocket, thinking once more of the night their bond was severed.

**Louisiana, 1985**

Eric sat in the throne as he did nearly every night since Fangtasia's opening. Pam had realized straight away that he would be the main draw for both vampires and humans alike. Eric himself found it mind-numbingly dull, with only hints of action that made the whole thing worthwhile. Plus there was the cash, they were practically swimming in it. The low overhead in Shreveport combined with the newfound interest the humans held in anything supernatural created a veritable pot of gold. It even put Ravenscroft to shame, and Fangtasia was in a strip mall for God's sake.

The night was like any other night. Uneventful. Pam removed and glamoured two lost, bitten humans wandering out from the men's restroom. Otherwise there was little to be said for the shift. Eric glanced at the clock. Nearly two in the morning. In accordance with local governance, they would need to be closing up soon. Unfortunately, the place was still packed. And a blonde specimen in the corner was making eyes at Eric, promising something she would not be able to deliver on. Eric glanced at her, considering a summons. He really did believe blondes had more fun.

"Last call," Madeline shouted from behind bar, mixing up a drink with her usual flourish.

Eric stood, weighing his options, deciding the blonde would do. But before he could take a step in her direction, he collapsed. The pain was unlike anything he had felt before, neither in his human life nor his afterlife. It was worse, somehow, than dying. Both times he had done the deed. It was agony, like being sawed in half from the inside, carved out slowly and methodically by a nervous doctor's twitching hands. Eric choked out a breath, hearing a commotion around him though the sound felt warbled and strange, like he was drowning and the shouting was above the surface, a place he could never reach. He felt hands grab beneath his shoulders, drag him along the floor of the club. His eyes were clenched tight, the inside of his lids popping, little explosions of light in the dark.

He did not know how much time had passed, did not know if it were night or day or night once more. It was endless, the pain, unstopping and localized. He wanted to cut a hole straight through his chest, remove the rot. He clawed at his own skin, attempting to break through it, his strength only a match for himself.

"Pam," he gasped, for breathing was difficult if not impossible. Where was his Child?

"I'm here," he heard a voice say, close to him yet still so far away. "I'm right here."

He continued to thrash, continued to convulse, continued his efforts to extricate himself from his own body. But all he could do was wait. He could suffer and nothing more. When he opened his eyes, the world blurred before him. His mouth was dry, his skin wet. But that was impossible; vampires did not sweat. He felt warm, yet freezing. Like he'd just broken a fever. That, too, was impossible. After death, core temperature remained unchanged.

"Are you awake?" It was Pam, her face hovering above him, concerned.

"What happened?" Eric asked, his voice hoarse from screaming.

Pam grimaced, touched his face tenderly.

"Your bond is broken," she whispered.

Eric sat up quickly, aftershocks of pain rolling through his body in protest.

"Here, your ring. It dropped from your pocket when you fell," Pam said, holding the loop in her open palm. Eric stared at it, his reality still only a tenuous suggestion, his mind uncomprehending. But there was one thing he knew to be true: a broken bond only happened in death. Eric swallowed, testing his bond and feeling only emptiness, a slack line drifting in deep ocean.

"Destroy it," Eric ordered. "I never want to see it again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry i just really am an angst person. i hope you're still holding on out there. please leave comments i love them so, i promise not to beg for more until next chapter ;)


	21. Night and Day

**Louisiana, 2008**

"Merry Christmas," Sookie whispered sleepily, slowly awakening from her nap to the feel of Eric's cool lips on her cheek.

She'd spent the morning and afternoon with Gran and Jason, exchanging presents beneath the tree and eating slices of her gran's infamous apple pie. Hadley left two days before Christmas Eve, wanting to return to her friends for the holidays. Sookie stayed true to her word. She hadn't spoken of Eric at all, not one mention of him during Hadley's stay. It seemed that his warning was an overreaction; the visit was uneventful, pleasant actually. Sookie hadn't seen much of Eric during that time, but that was only because she was so preoccupied with Hadley.

Sookie was happy. She felt normal. She had a family who loved her and a joyful Christmas. And, most importantly, she had Eric.

After a church service followed by a leisurely reception, the three Stackhouses returned to their home for a well-deserved nap. But Sookie couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned in her bed, hearing the rumbling of Jason's snores from the living room below. The cicadas sang loudly outside. It was like she could hear every piece of nature beyond her window. Even silent things created noise, even the sun hitting the long stalks of grass turned grating to her ears.

Sookie sighed, abandoning herself to the notion of sleep. Instead, in the heat of high afternoon, she drove. Aimlessly at first, then with direction. She had the keys to Eric's home in Shreveport attached to her chain, though she'd never once used them. She'd never taken the initiative to seek him out save to visit him at Fangtasia when she craved his touch, his presence. She felt selfish, suddenly, on what was meant to be the most selfless day of the year. Sookie checked the glove box of her car, finding the small present wrapped inside. She'd intended to wait for Eric to come to her after sunset, perhaps spend some time together in her room, whispering as not to wake Gran, surprising him with the gift while pressed together in bed. She'd taken it with her on the drive on impulse, though now she knew that it was her subconscious self planning for what her conscious self had yet to decide.

She drove into Shreveport near dinner time, exiting the long, straight highway to the winding suburban neighborhoods, the houses like fingerprints, so similar yet unique in their hidden details. From the outside, Eric's home was just as nondescript as the rest. It lay back from the road, a corner lot with an expansive, but conservatively trimmed lawn, immaculately kept by the human day staff. There was an aura of privacy, a sense that one should not come to knock. Sookie didn't know if that feeling was universal or if it was just because she knew who lay inside. She parked in the driveway, her beat-up commuter standing out like a sore thumb among the spotlessly manicured setting. Around her, Christmas lights flickered on, timers set to dusk.

Grabbing her gift, she walked up to the heavy wooden door, the key sliding easily into the lock. The house was drastically different on the inside than on the out, an American contemporary transformed into European minimalism. Clean lines, hardwoods, surfaces awash in the dying light of the sunset. Reaching out, Sookie felt Eric's void somewhere beneath her, the solid presence of deep slumber. It was comforting, feeling him so close, his blank mind wrapping around her own like a mute pressing down, the easy smother of a weighted blanket. She wandered around a bit before settling herself down on one of the couches in his living space, the cushions surprisingly soft beneath her. The house was cold, temperature regulation not exactly a priority for the undead. Thankfully, there was a heavy knit blanket draped across the back of the couch. Sookie snuggled up inside it and, before she knew it, she found sleep.

She felt him before she saw him, the cold insistence of his lips against her temple, her cheek, her eyebrow. She burrowed deeper into the blanket, a shiver as his breath ghosted over her exposed neck.

"Merry Christmas," he murmured, listening to her sleepy reply of the same. He left her then and she heard the rumble of a heating system starting up, the hum of hot air through vents. She watched as he picked up a remote control, turning on the fire with a switch. He still wore sleep clothes, his hair mussed up, faint golden stubble on his chin and cheeks. The cotton of his shirt looked soft, his boxers rumpled, his feet bare. He looked boyish, he looked warm.

"Come here," she beckoned, arms out to him. He joined her on the couch, wrapping her up in his long arms, careful to stay outside the blanket until the house warmed up further. She tucked her head under his chin, her forehead resting against his neck. It would be easy to fall back to sleep, as easy as breathing, encompassed as she was, safe as she felt. A home inside a home.

"How was your Christmas?" he asked, his nose brushing her hair. "I smell cinnamon and something tart."

"Gran made her apple pie," she replied, smiling a small smile. "It was delicious."

"Hmm," he mumbled, "I've never had apple pie."

"Not once?" she asked, moving back to look at his face. Apple pie was one of life's greatest gifts. The stickiness of the apple, the crunch and the soft, the crumbling, buttery pastry, the airy lightness of the whipped cream.

"Not once," he answered. She frowned.

"That's so sad."

"What I taste is just as delicious," he grinned crookedly, a flash in his eye as he looked to her neck. She stuck her tongue out, pushing off his chest to sit up more fully. The living room was already warmer, her cheeks flushed in response. She reached below them to the floor, bringing up the wrapped gift.

"For you," she said, handing it to him. He eyed it warily, like he was worried the ribbon might bite.

"You here with me is gift enough," he said earnestly, a surprisingly stoic admission. Its heaviness and importance made her feel nervous, like he was speaking yet again of a past she had no hope of remembering.

"So sweet tonight," she replied playfully, lightening the mood. She was rewarded with the rolling of his eyes, a cold hand overlapping her own as he took the present. It looked so small within his palm, so shoddy and haphazard and human.

"I suppose I'm feeling the holiday spirit," he said sarcastically, turning the box over carefully, his touch tentative as if afraid to break it.

"Go on," she pushed. He pulled the ribbon off and tore the cheap paper, a jewelry box inside. He flipped it open with a click, revealing her wedding ring. He looked at it closely, his brow pursed in concentration. "I had it engraved," she explained hastily, suddenly nervous about his reaction. "I don't know the date we originally got married but, uh, the jeweler said we could get that part added in. He left a space for it, I mean. I think he thought we hadn't gotten married yet. Who doesn't know their own wedding date, right?"

She was rambling now, attempting to fill the silence between them. Eric didn't seem to notice. He stroked the metal with his finger, the inside of the loop carved with their initials, followed by the letters MK.

"MK?" he finally asked, interrupting her explanation.

"Min kärlek," she whispered, stumbling over the pronunciation even though she'd practiced endlessly for this moment. He looked up at her then, his eyes burning with emotion held beneath tempered glass, a lock held fast to staunch what lay behind it.

"Det är perfekt," he replied, then translated for her benefit, "It's perfect. Thank you." He grabbed her bare hand, sliding the ring slowly onto her fourth finger, the fit as effortless as it had always been, the bone shaped to the metal, the metal encompassing bone. He leaned forward and kissed her softly, both hands cradling her face, his touch light as feathers, a whisper, a taste. He tilted his head to the side, examining her so closely she worried of her own imperfections, felt self-conscious toward what he might discover. She ducked her head nervously and he raised it without hesitation, two fingers under her chin.

"Do not hide from me," he whispered, touching his lips to hers once more. At first cautious, then insistent, his advance slow and steady, a curved, towering presence around her, lowering her down until she felt her back rest against the couch, until he hovered above her, his face only inches from her own, his hair dangling down to brush against her forehead. He kissed her slowly, repeated gestures, languid actions. His lips pressed to hers, his tongue only a flicker, a tease, a taste. An exhale as he leaned back, gazing at her face, his fingertips brushing her flushed skin, wrapping in her long blonde hair.

She sighed, feeling softness all around her, the weave of the blanket, the coaxing brush of his shirt against her chest. She wanted to feel all of him, was no longer satisfied with his gentle caresses, no longer cared to linger in their deliberate pace. Gripping the bottom of his shirt, she pulled upward, ripping it over his head quickly. He chuckled, his hair mussed and staticky, his blue eyes darkening in response to her aggression.

"What do you want for Christmas, Sookie?" he asked, his smile curving into a wicked grin, teasing her with his tongue, pressing himself against her fully until she was unable to move from the couch even if she tried.

"You," she whispered, throat hoarse, more need in her voice than she anticipated. It felt like it was leaking out of her, dripping from her orifices, transforming her actions into something feral. Her hand gripped his shoulder, the other tugging on his necklace, pulling her to him, his wedding ring crushed so hard in her hand that it left an imprint in the skin. He moaned, pulling off her shirt, kissing his way down her exposed skin, his teeth nipping at the waistband of her jeans. She could see his arousal through his boxers, ready and waiting as his chest heaved, unzipping her pants and sliding them down her legs, pulling them hastily off her socked feet, the sticking causing them both to chuckle in exasperation.

There was no sound other than their heavy breathing, no sight other than his face before her, gazing up from the vantage point at her belly button, his cheek resting on the soft skin there. Again, he was trying to slow them down, again, she tugged harder, forcing him to speed up, bucking against him, proving her need and begging him to reciprocate. His fangs dropped, the tickling scrape as he dragged them down the inside of her leg drove her insane, so much so that she propped herself up on her elbows, glaring at him in frustration.

"Eric," she whined, tugging on his hair. She heard a grumble in his chest, a warning growl. _Patience_ , it said. But she was tired of patience. She wiggled herself out from beneath him, his eyes wide with surprise at her actions. For a moment, they just looked at each other. A battle of wits, a singular raised eyebrow. Then, she tackled him to the floor, throwing herself at him with all of her strength. He caught her, of course. Cool hands around her waist as she straddled him, tugging at his boxers until his arousal slipped free, until she could hear his sudden intake of breath as she sunk down upon him, the feeling of completion causing her spine to ripple in pleasure.

"Your pace," he managed, one hand propping them up behind his back, the other locked on to her waist, the curve at the top of her hip. She felt small atop him, grasping his shoulders for leverage, tugging his hair though he could not feel the pain. She wanted him to feel something of her, wanted to own his pleasure as he owned hers, and, on the other side of the coin, wanted to own his pain. She had an urge to sink her teeth into his neck as he did her, to let the blood flow from him and drink him up, to curl inside him and live fully. Instead, she buried her face in his neck and let her teeth hover, lifting and dropping atop him as best she could, feeling his thrusts meet her own when her muscles began to grow tired.

He flipped her, her back suddenly on the solid wooden floor, her shoulder blades knocking together. He held her hands above her head in one of his own, lifting her leg with the impatient actions of building climax. The sensation of a peak, the last few feet before the mountaintop, the angry, almost desperate need to climb those last steps. He made no noise when he came. It seemed to die in his throat, a choked out gasp stolen before it could escape. She shuddered, her chin jutting upward, eyes clenched closed, forehead sweaty and cheeks red. She could feel the heat all around her, it grew from inside her core, blossoming from their weak bond, singing through the connection. She held his face between her palms, kissing his closed eyes then his lips. He wrapped his large arm around her belly, tugging her into his chest, a small contented sound escaping his lips.

She was so warm, every part of her, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Neither of them realized that outside it had begun to snow.

x

They drove back to Sookie's house in her car, despite Eric's protestations. Even though Eric hardly fit without contorting himself, even though he hated the car with a passion, he still insisted on driving. Sookie simply shrugged, climbing into the passenger's seat, the top of her head sprinkled with little flecks of white fluff. Snow was rare for Northern Louisiana, and though there was no accumulation it was still quite magical to see the stuff fall from the sky then melt to water as soon as it touched the ground. Sookie rested her forehead against the window, letting the cool glass lower her body temperature.

Eric had pushed her until she couldn't go on, until she was just a pile of limbs curled up on the rug in his living room. He'd offered to carry her to the car; it was only a few hours until dawn and Sookie had long shifts at Merlotte's coming up, the space between Christmas and New Years always particularly busy for the little restaurant, what with all of the students off from school and many of the adults on break from work. She'd shuffled slowly to the car beneath his arm, letting him go only so that he could cross to the driver's side. Even seated, she kept herself wrapped around him, feeling the flex of his bicep as he shifted gears, the smooth move of his muscles as the car wove around each bend of the road.

Soon enough, they were on the dirt two-track that cut through the long grass toward Sookie's house. She held onto him tighter, not out of reason but out of impulse. There was something tickling at the edge of her subconscious, something that wasn't quite right. Sure enough, the closer they got to the house the more was revealed to them. Two black Jeeps, parked on the lawn haphazardly, their lights still on. Jason's truck was gone. Eric stiffened, his nostrils flaring. He cranked the handle on the window, dropping it just a hair. Sookie watched as he sniffed the outside air, tensing further. They pulled to a stop, Sookie squinting out her window into the darkness.

"Stay in the car," Eric murmured, extricating himself from her arms. She tried to grasp onto his clothing, a desperate act. She failed.

"Whose cars are these?" She leaned over the console toward him as he slid out of the car.

"Stay," he reiterated, closing the door with a snap.

Sookie watched through the fogged glass as Eric stepped slowly out into the clearing, his head on a swivel, his arms outstretched to either side as if inviting danger, as if taunting it. In a flash, another vampire stood before him, blocked by Eric's body. She couldn't tell who it was, couldn't hear what they were talking about. She pushed as close to the glass as she could, using her fingers to wipe away the condensation. The vampire lunged toward Eric and Sookie jumped, reaching for the door handle. But Eric just stepped to the side, a cocky smile on his face. That was when Sookie could see the other vampire. And once she could see him, she recognized him immediately. Bill Compton.

Her hand tugged and the car door opened. She stepped out into the cold night, the anger fuming inside of her. Each exhale looked like a puff of smoke disappearing into the air, faster and faster and faster.

"Bill, what the hell?" Sookie yelled. Both vampires turned toward her. Bill, she realized, was smiling. Eric was no longer.

"Sookie, get in the house!" Eric roared, his hands curved into claws.

"Bill, why are you even here? Aren't you over all this by now? Vampires can go anywhere so why don't you just leave me alone?" She stalked toward him, driven solely by her fury, ignoring Eric's righteous demand. Bill was no match for Eric, they both knew that. She owed him a piece of her mind, anyway. For tricking her, for threatening her. He deserved an earful.

"Sookie, a pleasure to see you again," Bill said in his Southern drawl. He sniffed the air. "It smells like you had a good night."

"Pervert," she snapped.

"Get in the house," Eric growled, quieter this time. Sookie knew why. No other vampires besides Eric had access to the property. She would be safe inside, Bill couldn't enter. But she didn't want to sequester herself away from Bill, she wanted to scream at him. She even wanted to use profanity. She felt her hands warm up, the frightening feeling she'd always tampered down, an uncontrollable power that grew and grew.

Bill glanced toward her hands, how they glowed.

"It's true," he whispered, eyes filled with mirth. "I knew it."

Eric stood between the vampire and Sookie, blocking her with his body.

"Leave. I will not ask you again," he ordered, hissing. Bill's fangs weren't even out. It was like he was having a casual, sauntering stroll under the moonlight.

"I would be careful with your words today, Sheriff," Bill taunted.

"Yes, you never know who might come lurking from the woods," a woman's voice added, dangerously close to Sookie's neck. Sookie flinched and made to run for the house, but she wasn't fast enough. Cold arms enclosed her from behind, pulled her back into an equally cold chest. "Remember me?" the voice asked, red hair draped over Sookie's shoulder. And Sookie did, she did remember her. It was Sophie-Anne.

Eric flipped and hissed, dropping into a crouch. He was older than both vampires, of that Sookie was certain. But could he take on both at once?

"Oh, come now. Is that any way to greet your Queen?" Sophie-Anne asked playfully. Sookie could practically hear the smile on her lips.

"She is mine," Eric said, his voice dangerously low, his eyes dark and glinting under the light of the stars.

"You can't _own_ a fairy, Eric. Come on. She's fair play," Sophie-Anne said, her grip tightening further.

Eric did not respond. She felt a nudge on their bond, a rush of calm concentration. It made her want to close her eyes and drift off to sleep. Against her will, she felt her eyelids drop, a deep breath locked in her lungs. It must've been exactly what Eric wanted, for in an instant the arms were no longer around her. She was in the air, then on the ground, crumpled up, a byproduct of an assault. She opened her eyes, laying on her back, staring up at the stars. There were so many. There were thousands of them. It was overwhelming. How was there room for them all? She heard the sounds of fighting, sought to orient herself, sucked the air back into her lungs that'd been forced out on impact.

Pushing herself up, she saw both vampires attacking Eric, their speed rendering in blurs of movement. They were paying her no mind, off to the side in the brush as she was. She'd been thrown closer to the house, was only fifty feet or so from the porch. If she could just get inside…

Sookie began her slow crawl, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds to the fight taking place behind. She couldn't be absolutely certain, but from what she could see it did seem as though Eric was winning. His speed and strength was unmatched in comparison to the other two, and at each pause in movement both Bill and Sophie-Anne looked worse for wear than the prior. Sookie's hands and knees squelched in the mud, snow still falling atop her and melting on impact. She was so close now, only inches from the wooden steps. She heard a keening sound, a deadly injury. Fearful for Eric, she froze, looking back. Eric had Bill by the throat, Sophie-Anne beneath a silver-soled shoe. It was Sophie-Anne who was screaming, the flesh of her arm melting, melting.

Sookie sighed in relief, her hands reaching the steps of the porch. Only a few more feet and she would be inside.

"Not so fast," murmured a voice above her. It was a strange accent, deeply Southern but with a hint of something foreign, something regal. British aristocracy, a message from the Queen herself. She looked up to see a brown-haired vampire. He wasn't dressed for the weather, but he was dressed fashionably. His jacket and jeans fit him well, his shoes gleamed despite their presence in the mud. "Eric," he said, glancing toward the other three vampires. "Release Sophie-Anne, would you? That screech is so grating."

"Russell," Eric acknowledged. He did not release her.

"Do what I say or she dies right here," the vampire, Russell, responded, gesturing to Sookie. His calm was eerie, disconcerting. Sookie was frozen in her spot beneath him. Could she dart inside? He would catch her, surely.

"You wouldn't waste a fairy," Eric said confidently, though Sookie heard the small tremor in his voice.

"Now that is where you're wrong," Russell smiled. "You of all people know the lengths I will go to for a day in the sun."

Eric tensed, removed his foot from Sophie-Anne's skin and dropped his hand from Bill's neck. Sophie-Anne jumped to a standing position, hissing at Eric aggressively. They cornered him, though not tightly. They simply created a barrier between him and Sookie. Russell reached a hand down to Sookie, a polite offer to pull her up. Sookie grimaced, taking his cold hand in her own. Russell used the opportunity to lean in toward her, wrapping his arms around her like a vice, holding her still, making sure she didn't flee. She could hear the slow inhale through his nose.

"I recognize your scent," Russell said, sounding surprised. "From a skirmish, I believe?" he smiled, looking toward Eric. "I did wonder at the time how a fairy would've gotten away from The Northman. I never considered it wasn't a skirmish at all. My mistake. Now I understand Godric's betrayal. It was only a matter of time." He laughed then, using his hand to brush Sookie's blonde hair over her shoulder.

"Why are you here?" Eric raged, pushing against Bill's chest, forcing him back. "Why are you all here?"

"It's simple, Eric," Russell explained patiently, "Bill here procured a fairy for his Queen, and his Queen sold that fairy to me. For a hefty sum, if I might add. I imagine it will pay off a fair few of her debts. Am I right, Sophie-Anne?"

Eric did not let Sophie-Anne respond to the menial question.

"Sookie is not Sophie-Anne's to sell. She is mine," Eric repeated his earlier statement. "We are bonded."

"Hardly," Russell replied, waving his hand. "An incomplete bond, you're barely inside her. I give it a few weeks at best."

"You can't just sell me. I'm a human being!" Sookie thrashed against her captor, trying to get away. It was futile. She could tell this vampire was strong, stronger even than Eric. He must be incredibly ancient. Sookie shook, her eyes seeking out Eric's. His face was cold as stone; it gave nothing away.

"No, my dear. You are far more than that," Russell crooned to Sookie, his voice wistful and sweet.

Then, Eric did something Sookie never thought he could or would ever do. He begged.

"Please," Eric said, his eyes downcast deferentially. "You have already taken my Maker."

Russell blanched.

"Your Maker betrayed our kind, or do you not remember that? The fairies took your Maker. Her _grandfather_ took your Maker."

"Please," he said again, ignoring Russell's tirade. "What do you want? I'll give you whatever you want."

Russell laughed, but it wasn't joyful. It was resigned.

"I want the same thing I've wanted for thousands of years, Eric. And I finally have it, right here before me," Russell sighed, as if lecturing to a petulant child who refused to understand the basics. "I want the day."

And with that, Russell's arms tightened around Sookie and they were gone, shooting straight up, flying into the night sky.

**Scandinavia, 1005**

Sookie's head rested against his chest, her warm breathing washing over his bare skin. She slept soundly, even atop his body, so unyielding and hard as it was. It was a marvel to him every time, her comfort and her ease, her compassion, her gentle touch. He wanted to wake her. Godric had gone off in pursuit of something or another and the stars were incredibly bright. He wanted to share them. He could hear the coo of an owl, the distant wail of a newborn's cry, the shuffle of a horse as it whinnied in its stall. They'd taken refuge in a stable, curled up in the hay, so similar to where she'd once saved him, a second chance to live again.

He eased his fingers into her hair, running through the lengths, coaxing her slowly into wakefulness, hearing her heart speed up from its steady thump, her breaths coming quicker, a snuffle as her curled fist met her chin. Her lean body stretched against him, arms reach up and around his head, her eyes opening with a squint.

"When did I fall asleep?" she murmured, her voice low with sleep.

"Not long ago."

"You let me waste the night," she grumbled, the linen of her dress scratching his tunic.

"You needed rest."

She sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder. There was a gap in the thatched roofing of the stable, a hole just big enough to see a smattering of stars. They crowded in on each other, interlocking and overlapping, casting a pool of light onto them both. Sookie shuffled and the hay crunched beneath her, moving as if she were going to stand and leave. Eric responded automatically, locking his arms around her, pulling her into his chest, feeling her softness all around him.

"Eric," she whispered, using the Old Norse pronunciation. He grunted, wedging his nose into her hair, smelling her unique scent, acknowledging how it taunted him, how it called to him. "I want to do the third exchange."

Eric stilled, his eyes widening. The permanent bond. She wanted the permanent bond. He flipped her, resting her back carefully on the hay, searching her expression as if his life depended on it. In a way, it did. This was the only thing he wanted for his immortality, so much so that he was fearful to ask for it. It needed to come from her, and now it had. And on such an inconsequential night. It amazed him.

"You are sure?" he asked, trying to read her eyes. The fathomless sea of blue.

"I am sure, yes," she whispered, craning her neck to kiss him.

"Right here?" he asked around her lips.

"Yes."

"And you're not–"

"Eric," she interrupted, pulling back to stare at him sternly. "Bite your hand."

Eric did as she said, dropping his fangs and sinking them into the flesh of his palm. Sookie looked at the wound, her tongue reaching out to wet her lower lip. She craned her head to the side, her hair the same color as the hay, an interwoven plait of humanity and earth, the symphony only she could perform. He pressed his thumb to her artery, stroking the entry point, feeling the throb of her pulse against her skin. He waited to feel her lips touch his palm before he bit, the searing pleasure rolling through him at the combination of both consumption and the act of being consumed. He had to force himself to extract his fangs, had to force her away from his own blood. She was panting, her lips and teeth red, her eyes on fire.

The bond between them solidified. He felt it, its concrete nature, the way it congealed and stuck.

If he were human, he would have gasped.

If he were human, he would have trembled.

If he were human, he would have wept.

Instead, Sookie did it for him, saltwater dripping down her cheeks, lapped up by Eric's tongue before it could hit the hay beneath her. She pressed her hand to his chest, that connected part within him, soothing the ache he hadn't known was there until she touched it.

"Forever," he whispered in amazement, in promise.

She nodded, swallowed, smiled.

"Forever."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're closing in on the end here, folks. stay healthy, stay safe. x


	22. Now and Forever

**Faerie, 1985**

Hadley could only watch as her cousin writhed on the flat stone of the courtyard. Everything happened so quickly and all at once. Niall's commotion drew the fairies out, an impromptu congregation of curiosity and confusion. Little groupings stood around in clusters, watching in awe as their seemingly fearless leader prepared for battle, as he prepared to travel to the human realm for the first time in recent memory. His guards trailed in his wake, though they gave him a wide berth. Not only was Niall outfitting himself for a war they were not fighting, but he was doing so already armed and ready to fire, his hands glowing so brightly they looked like miniature suns of power. Anyone who dared get close enough might find themselves caught in the crossfire.

At that point, no one even noticed Sookie, trailing behind her grandfather, her face stricken and lost. Only Hadley watched her proceed, from a distance, leaning out the window of Niall's office, watching the scene below. She walked without direction, stumbling, a drunk in the shadows. She had an air about her of loss, of tragedy, though the act had not yet been executed. Hadley had never known that type of connection, the type Sookie had with the vampire, that level of love, so pure and true. The type where nothing else mattered. But she could recognize it. She could see it in her kin; if Niall killed Eric, Sookie would not survive. Hadley realized, with a tremendous finality, that she had made a great and terrible mistake.

Niall approached the portal, but Hadley only had eyes for Sookie. She noticed with surprise that Sookie had transformed slightly. Her shoulders were squared, straight. Her expression determined, focused. Her hands shook, then glowed. Sookie was not known for her power. Yes, she was strong. Yes, fairy blood still coursed through her veins. But she was nothing, she was no one in comparison to a pureblood. At least, that was what Hadley thought. That it is what she assumed. But one glance at Sookie's hands negated all of her preconceived notions. She nearly missed it, the light so bright it reflected, it burned. Hadley closed her eyes in response, felt the hair blow back from her neck as she did so. When she opened them again, the screams had already started.

Hadley took the steps two at a time, racing down the stairs to the courtyard below. The fairies that were hovering in the distance closed in, strangling Sookie in a tight loop of bodies. Hadley pushed through them to the center only to discover Niall hunched over her as she choked, as she flinched, as she gagged. Her eyes were clenched shut against the pain, her palms smoking and charcoal black. Like she'd burned herself, like she'd done it to herself. But that was impossible.

"Her bond. It's broken. I've seen this before," Niall said, his voice serious and stern. Commanding. His weapons were sheathed, the crinkled skin of his hands stroking Sookie's face. Sookie grimaced, her jaw flexing, her teeth grinding together as if forcing herself not to bite off Niall's fingers. "Take her to the infirmary. Call the doctors."

A guard scooped Sookie into his arms, her limbs thrashing against him, protesting against even the slightest touch. Her groans echoed throughout the chamber, louder and louder still. Hadley stood by Niall as Sookie was carried away, until a door thudded shut, a mute over her anguish. Distant sounds of pain and panic could still be heard, each one making her grandfather flinch in response.

"What happened?" Hadley breathed.

"The vampire," Niall began, another scream cutting him off before he could continue. "He has died."

"That's not possible," Hadley replied. "We both know that's not possible. We've both seen how strong he is."

"These things happen," Niall said stoically. "When we least expect it, when we deem it impossible, death comes to greet us."

"No," Hadley said emphatically. "Not unless… not unless he did it to himself."

Hadley's mind flew into possibility, into scenarios imagined and real. What if he knew she was leaving him permanently? What if he felt just as strongly as Sookie proclaimed he did? What if the loss was too much to handle, what if he decided to end it instead of go on? Hadley shuddered. Fairies valued life above all else, but all Hadley could see, all she could feel, was death.

"She will be better off without him," Niall said with a surety that made Hadley fearful of her grandfather for the first time in her existence. No one was better off without their soulmate, no one forgets how their one great love felt by their side.

"I hope you are right," Hadley managed. She left him then, went to the infirmary instead of her own quarters. She would stay with Sookie. She would stay for as long as it took. She would hold her hand through the pain, stroke her hair, cool her forehead with a damp cloth, feed her, bathe her, give her sips of water. She would attempt to heal her, attempt to soothe her pain. If it could play any part in remedying the mistake she made, then she would do it. No matter what.

How could it be so endless? How could the pain be so unforgiving? Hadley knew that bonding with humans was forbidden for this very reason, because the consequence of the break was much too great. She'd never done it herself, nor did she know any fairies who had. Not until now. Still, she had underestimated the severity. It was as though Sookie was losing a part of herself, that a part of her own being was dying, was being cut away slowly, removed from her body while she lay awake to watch. And, perhaps, that was what was happening in its own way. The physical representation of a soul leaving the body, of a handprint fading, of a life withdrawn.

Hadley held her, let Sookie grip her as hard as she wanted. She watched the muscles flex beneath her skin, the sweat grow on her forehead. Hadley told her little stories, little fairytales, though only the ones with happy endings. Anything to distract her from her torment, anything to make the time go faster, to bleed away like the internal wound she fought against. Hadley couldn't tell if Sookie heard her, couldn't tell if she was able to listen. She lost her touch with tangible reality, with the passing of time. She didn't know how long she sat at Sookie's bedside. It could've been years. It could've been minutes.

Niall came to the infirmary. He rested his hand on Hadley's shoulder, awakening her with a jolt. She hadn't even realized she'd slept. He reeked of sadness, bathed in early morning light, the crease cuts of his wrinkles deep and shadowy. Hadley stared into his eyes, searching. Imploring. Sookie lay before them, restless even in sleep. Tense, constrained. The pain unstoppable.

"Can you help her?" Hadley finally asked.

Niall nodded solemnly, sitting on the edge of the bed. Sookie's eyes opened, her milky gaze unfocused.

"Grandfather?" she asked, her voice rough from misuse. Hadley watched as her grandfather succumbed, as he always had, to his precious granddaughter, his offspring borne from half his kin and half apart, so alike him yet so fragile, so independent yet so protected.

"Sookie," he whispered, running his aged knuckles along her bare arm.

"Can you make it go away?" Sookie asked desperately, her hands clutching the white sheets beneath her.

"I can make it go away," he replied softly, "I can make it all go away. Close your eyes now. I'll make it better, I promise."

He scooted closer to Sookie, resting a palm on her forehead, his hand glowing slightly where their skin met. Hadley's brow furrowed, watching the transformation on her grandfather's own face. Concentration, focus. A level of magic, a level of power she had never witnessed before, never even heard of.

"What are you doing?" Hadley asked urgently. Sookie's body began to relax, began to settle.

"I'm making it go away," Niall answered, turning his attention back to his granddaughter. Hadley did not know what that meant at the time. Did not understand the significance of his words, of what Sookie would become. A girl without memory, a girl without history. Without the experiences that made up a person, that shaped a story. A lost girl who'd never grow up.

No, what she saw before her that day was a different narrative; a much more generous, hopeful one. The pain left Sookie. She began to relax, to let her muscles unwind, her face smoothing out, a grateful exhale between her lips. When her eyes opened once more, they were clear and bright.

But they were empty.

She looked at Hadley then at Niall with the blank cheerfulness of a newborn. Then, as if truly entering the world for the first time, her brow furrowed in fear like she might cry. Like the world overwhelmed her, like it was all too much to bear, too much to witness, too much to take part in. Like there was no room for her in this life, like it was all some tragic accident, some misunderstanding to be rectified.

She opened her mouth to speak then exhaled, finding the words. Finally, she asked:

"Who are you?"

**Louisiana, 2008**

All Eric had to do was wait it out. He had to wait for them to get comfortable, to feel sure. And then he would break free, as easily as snapping a twig. He had grown resistant to silver over the years, could overpower the thin chains that Bill and Sophie-Anne had used on his wrists, his ankles. They'd driven him to New Orleans by human driver, trapped in a coffin, silver-bound. After Russell took Sookie, Eric got a little sloppy. Careless. He could admit that. He should've known not to chase on instinct, should've known they would lay a trap if he attempted to fly.

The silver netting was brutal. It stopped him mid-launch and anchored him to the ground beneath them. Had he not been so blinded by rage, he would've seen Bill reach for it, would've seen Sophie-Anne's triumphant smile, would've torn out their livers with his pinkie finger and enjoyed doing it. Instead, he sat in a pitiful excuse for a cell beneath Sophie-Anne's sprawling mansion, a nameless group of vampires guarding the door. Eric could hear Bill and Sophie-Anne above him, milling about on the main level. Their mindless chatter, their congratulatory nature. It disgusted him. They had not won. They hadn't even entered the ring.

One of the vampires threw a bag of blood at his feet, just out of reach from the chains. They were taunting him, testing him. Seeing if he could break through the silver, wondering if the stories they heard about the Sheriff of Area Five were actually true. They were, of course. But he wasn't going to let them know that truth. Not yet. Eric focused, summoning Pam, capturing her attention. He felt her dutiful response, her abrupt trajectory in his direction. There would be little time for explanations, for regrouping, for plans. Eric had to use this patience to his advantage, to plot his next move before it could be negated like a chess match in which he was already a handful of pawns short.

Eric could imitate rest rather easily. It was a trick Godric taught him, the right way to angle his head in which to suppress the bleeds, to stifle the flow of blood so it pooled instead of dripped. Eric closed his eyes. He closed his eyes and waited. Waited until he heard the silence above him, around him. The single drip of water in a leaky pipe, the earthworms burrowing in the mud, the click of the second-hand on a clock. Opening his eyes back up during the day was a struggle, but a necessary one. His muscles felt leaden, as if they were solidifying to wood and sinking deep into wet concrete. He sensed Pam near to him, felt the tug on his bond of commiseration, of preparedness. He tensed his arms and pushed, the silver snapping and falling to the ground before him.

Ironically, the blood intended to trap Eric still lay at the front of the cell. After yanking his feet from their bindings, he downed the whole bag in one go. He would need it. Sophie-Anne's home had floor-to-ceiling windows and werewolf guards, both of which he would need to avoid in order to make it to Pam. His uncooperative legs dragged beneath him as he walked. He listened carefully to the beating hearts above him. Now standing, blood leaked freely from his nose and ears, dripping down and splashing to the floor, a gratuitous trail of breadcrumbs. Eric hovered behind the door to the light tight basement, paused. A guard stood on the other side. He could smell him, taste him. His focus, his singular motive drove Eric to an alert efficiency. Every act boiled down to that particular moment, each move potentially his last, their last. That was not acceptable.

Everything had to be perfect. He had to be perfect.

The door splintered when he shoved, the crack of wood bending in on itself in a shudder and a whine. The guard spun, gun at the ready. But he was far too slow. Eric wrapped his hands around his neck and chin, and, with a flick of the wrist, the man was dead. Eric kicked his body down the steps, shut what was left of the door and ran toward his Child. An alarm shrieked in his ears as he threw open the front gate, instantly met with bright, unforgiving sunlight. Eric hissed, his fangs dropping on instinct, shielding his eyes with his forearms. He could follow the bond internally, he did not need to see. He held onto the rope within him, feeling the tug toward Pam as though he were being dragged against a heavy current.

He moved quickly, blew through objects, ricocheted off metal and wood. All the while his skin burned, the wretched stank of boiling flesh, of melting muscle to bone. He was moving quickly, could tell by the feel of the air against his skin, of the bullets that whizzed behind his head, too slow, one step too late. He considered flying, briefly, though he believed any inch closer to the sun would turn him to Icarus, a descent in flames guaranteed. Pam was close, then closer still. He ran headlong into something metal, something impervious, and juddered to a stop. It was the reinforced door of the storage container. He had made it. With a grunt, he pulled it up with the latch, hearing Pam's hiss of protest as he rolled inside. She slammed it shut herself, coming quickly to Eric where he lay in a ball, his skin still smoking, raw, burnt and brittle.

"I brought blood," she said, handing him a bag. The engine rumbled to life, the tires of the 18-wheeler upon which the storage container sat crunching atop the pavement. Eric took the blood, sucking it in greedily, felt as the life force went straight to work on his wounds. They were silent for a few moments, Eric letting his body recuperate from the daylight, Pam stewing in her own uncertainty. He sensed her emotions: the trepidation, the worry, the concern, the annoyance. He smirked at that last one–at least some things remained consistent while the rest of his existence went straight to hell.

"Are you going to tell me what the _fuck_ is going on?" Pam finally asked, the impatience in her voice clear as the day outside.

"Thank you for coming," Eric said, though it was stern gratitude. A warning that this was serious and no attitude would be tolerated. Pam backed off, recognizing the threat in her Master's tone. "Sophie-Anne sold Sookie to Russell."

"Russell? The… King of Mississippi?" Pam asked, confused.

"Yes. Russell is a fairy hunter," Eric grunted. He watched as the exposed skin of his hands and arms knit together, remembering the pain and chalking it up to a debt he would pay to both Sophie-Anne and Bill.

"And how do you know that?" Pam challenged.

"Let's just say we have a history together," Eric smirked. "This is unimportant. What is important is how I am going to get her back from him."

"He already has her?" Pam asked, incredulous. "There's no way. He's ancient."

"Thank you for your vote of confidence, Pamela."

"Sorry," she sniffed. "What's the plan?"

Eric stared at her silently.

"You do have a plan, right?" Pam asked, eyebrow raised.

"The plan is I go in there and get her."

"Did you not hear what I said? He's ancient."

"Don't you think I know that?" Eric snapped, the blood from his nose dripping to the floor of the container. "I have seen him fight. I have seen him lead. I have seen him kill."

"Eric, that's suicide. You can't go in there alone."

"What choice do I have?" he raged, his fist slamming into the wall, leaving a dent in the metal.

"Well, I'm going to go with you, obviously," Pam said, rolling her eyes.

"No. It's too dangerous. I forbid it."

"You need help," Pam hissed.

"No."

"Stubborn fool," Pam snapped. "I'm coming with you whether you like it or not."

"No," he reiterated. "Do not make me command you to stay back. You know I will if I must."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me," Eric growled, his long fangs glinting in the low light.

Pam crossed her arms, averted her eyes. In the silence, he contemplated what she said. He was a trained warrior, skilled in both learned tactics and instinctual combat, and even he knew that he did not stand a chance against Russell. Even with Russell's guards removed, with his backup eviscerated, and without the advantage of his home turf, it would be a tough if not impossible battle. Just as Eric lost time and again to Godric, he would lose to Russell. And this was not a skirmish, this was a thousand times more important than that. He could see no options. Pam's help would not tip the scales in his favor, nor would any of the other young vampires in his dominion.

Eric plucked his bond with Sookie. It was hardly there, like a ripple of water on a still pond, a strider coasting the surface. She was alive. He knew that for a fact. He could feel the distance between them, the gap of space and time. Russell had taken her to Mississippi and left her alive. Eric meant what he said outside of Sookie's house. There was no way that Russell would waste a fairy on one singular day. He would do what he tried to do all those years ago: he would keep her captive, harvest her blood, experiment. The fairies were taught to kill themselves before ever succumbing to captivity, particularly in the hands of a vampire. That was how his plan failed all those years ago. But Sookie... Sookie did not know the rules. She did not know herself fairy at all.

Eric grimaced, the machinations of his mind whirring, testing all of the variables and coming up with the same outcome every time. Death. If not for one of them, then for both.

 _You need help._ Pam was right, as she always was. There was one option he had, one force that had defeated Russell before. One idea that could, perhaps, defeat him again. Permanently. It was possible. Not probable, but possible. And it had consequences. Unfathomable ones at that.

"Have you changed your mind?" Pam asked, feeling the shift in Eric's mood. The purpose driving out the helplessness. The suicidal turned determined.

"You're not coming with me," Eric reiterated, laying down, feeling the rumble of the wheels on his back. "I need to rest. To prepare."

"Whatever you say, Master," she replied sarcastically, joining him. Pam left her hand open, outstretched, hovering between them. Waiting. She knew what Eric needed; she always knew. Eric grabbed her hand with his own, wove their fingers together, feeling the strength of his Child flow from her to him. Her promise, her confidence, her surety that they would succeed. It beckoned him into sleep.

When Eric awoke, the sun was nearly set and their hands were still interlocked. He removed his slowly, careful not to wake her. He waited, anxious and impatient, until the last of the light dropped below the horizon before sliding open the back of the container and slipping out into the night. Fangtasia welcomed him, the sign dark, the door closed. The human staff milled about, setting up for the evening to come. They didn't notice when Eric rushed past them; all they felt was the slight displacement of air, an unruly wind drifting from a vent.

He sat himself at his desk with a heavy sigh, testing his bond with Sookie once more. Alive. Responsive. But weakening. His hand clenched into a fist, frustration lurking within every part of him. Sookie was not helpless. She was strong, she could fight back even if she didn't know how. She proved this already in the woods with René, when Eric nearly lost her, when he almost didn't get there in time. But Russell was not a bigoted human stumbling blind through the forest. No, he was a vampire. Older than Godric, seemingly older than man itself. Sookie with all of her faculties would not be able to best him, subdue him. And Eric would not rest until Russell was bested.

Russell had taken too much from him, from his existence. Eric would tolerate it no longer. He would not stop until Russell met the true death. He vowed it.

From within his pocket, Eric pulled out the small slip of paper. The international line. He dialed it quickly, hearing the buzz of the connection, the beeps of a foreign transfer. It rang and rang and rang. He didn't consider this option, didn't consider the possibility that the call would not be answered. Right when he was about to give up, there was a click of a phone removed from its handle.

"Hello?" Hadley said, her voice wary.

"Hadley, it's Eric," he replied swiftly, wasting no time. "I need your help."

"Now?" she asked, just as urgently.

"As soon as you can. And, Hadley?"

He could hear her pause, how she waited with bated breath.

"Bring Niall," he ordered and hung up.

**Mittenwald, 1835**

Sookie's last stop was the tailor. His name was Friedrich and he knew Sookie by name. Even though Sookie's German was lackluster at best, they still understood each other. Mostly because Sookie was always asking for extra fabric, extra long trousers, extra in the arms and extra around the neck. Since the shops were only open during the daytime, Sookie was left with doing the menial tasks for both her and Eric: bartering for farming and cleaning supplies, picking up clothing and food, selling their goods, the list went on and on.

She didn't mind these tasks, not truly. It gave her an excuse to get out during the day, to experience the town during its most beautiful hours, both sunset and sunrise. They'd picked Mittenwald because of its rural but accessible location. They were able to keep a small farm where they'd be left alone by both the humans and the supernatural. Sookie could go into town when necessary and when the feeling suited her. Ever since returning from the colonies, Sookie yearned for the open countryside the New World provided them, the anonymity and the sense of freedom, of wonder.

Germany felt most like what they'd come to know as their home, though the fields of Virginia were now but a history for both. They could only stay in one place for so long, even if the humans were in constant flux. After all, they didn't age, and some began to notice. It was easier to pick up and start again; far easier than convincing an entire generation that their eyes were playing tricks on them. Eric had found the cottage they now inhabited during her last trip to Faerie, obtaining all the necessities with the funds they had amassed selling wheat, tariffs aside. After dodging a revolution or two, they'd found peace once more.

Sookie knocked on the door to the tailor's shop. Behind the steepled roof lay the distant snowcapped mountains, glistening luminously in the sunset. Sometimes, moments on Earth were so beautiful that they were painful to Sookie. It was like the memory burned a permanent place within her so forcefully that it hurt. Like it was daring her to forget its beauty, its transcendent importance. This was one of those moments.

A little bell jingled as the door opened, Friedrich's face peering from behind the wood. His small, wire-rimmed glasses perched on the edge of his nose, a hair's breadth from dropping off the tip. He blushed, staring up at Sookie. She wasn't tall, but by Friedrich's standards she was a giant. She smiled at him, stepping past as he let her inside.

"You came just in time," he said, traipsing through his piles of fabric. The shop was a chaotic mess as always, bunches of linens, silks, patterns, colors. Sookie ran her hand along something so soft it felt like water between her fingers. "You would like to check?"

Friedrich moved a stack papers, a ribbon ruler and a loose pair of scissors from the table, setting down a large cardboard box. He lifted off the top, revealing the suit that lay inside. It was immaculate, luxurious, impressively crafted, just as Sookie had anticipated. It cost them a pretty penny but it was surely worth it. She touched the velvet necktie, the charcoal grey of the lapels, the cinched buttons.

"It's beautiful," Sookie gushed.

"I checked the lengths twice. Very tall, yes?" Friedrich asked, confirming.

"Yes," she smiled. "I'm sure you have it right."

"Very good."

He replaced the lid, handing her the box. She had already paid upfront. This was the last thing she needed, the last prepared item for their small ceremony. She couldn't help the butterflies that ran through her stomach as she walked the cobblestones, each moment dipping further into night. With the parcel tucked firmly under one arm, she wove through the streets, growing narrower and narrower until she hit the dirt lanes, traversed only sporadically by horse and carriage. She could've taken one of their horses but she enjoyed walking the country roads, their smell and taste and magic.

She came upon their cottage, the light of candles already glowing in the windowsills. She paused outside for a moment, watching the solid shape of Eric's silhouette cross frame like a moving watercolor, splashes of him diluted and wavy before her. Before she knew it, the door opened.

"What are you waiting for?" he whispered, beckoning her inside with his hand. He heard her heartbeat, felt her through their bond. Knew she was near to him as he always knew, as they both always knew. She entered the house, immediately enveloped by the warmth of the fire, sliding the box his way. He smiled and nodded his thanks. Their bond was tempered, but she was surprised by the flash of anxiety she felt on his end. Perhaps she was not the only one with butterflies.

The dress lay in their room wrapped in paper. She'd had it made in Berlin and went herself to pick it up, making Eric promise he would not peek. The fabric was thin but conservative, airy and light as if she were wearing but a wisp of new smoke from a fire. It was shiny, too, and when it caught the light it twinkled like a thousand stars. It encapsulated the night. Not its danger, not its mystery, but its perfection. Its wonder, opportunity, anonymity, and beauty. She put it on carefully, mindful not to rip or snag. The fabric flowed from her neckline to her bare feet; it seemed to float on air, its sheen brilliant. She let her hair down, braiding small sections into plaits, pinning it back with wildflowers she'd found around the cottage. She wanted to look as she did the day they met, dancing and laughing and free.

She pinched her cheeks, took a deep breath and joined Eric in the front room. He was waiting, the suit a perfect fit, the crystal blue of his eyes scorching her own. He was upon her in a flash, his fingertip touching the soft petal of a flower in her hair.

"Do you remember?" she asked, speaking of that day, the gathering, the Viking prince, the moments before a deadly duel.

"I remember everything," he whispered, his lips brushing her forehead gently. "Are you ready?"

She swallowed and nodded. He took her hand, leading her outside, then lifted her like she was a delicate, breakable thing, holding her to him before lifting off into the night. The stars shone around them, dripping down, each one shooting toward the horizon, the moon not yet risen, hiding, laying in wait. They flew to the depths of the mountains, to the tree line scattered with fallen snow hovering into springtime. Sookie's breath misted before her.

"You look beautiful," Madeline said, leaning up against the base of a tree. She held a lantern, though she did not need it to see by. Instead, she placed it between them on a smooth, flat rock. Something to cast their faces in a glow, to bring them closer together. "You told her that, right, Eric?"

Eric grimaced, clutched the back of his neck.

"You look beautiful, Sookie," he said. Sookie wanted to reach up, to tug on the fabric that held his hair back in a low knot. She wanted to unravel him, to start from the top and work her way down to his toes. She wanted her vampire, his savagery and his humanity, the man beneath the suit. Instead, she blushed in response to his compliment, however prompted, and looked expectantly at Madeline.

"I have the rings," Madeline said, taking a small drawstring pouch from her satchel. She handed one to Sookie, the other to Eric. "Are you both ready?"

They nodded, glancing at each other and away.

"Don't tell me you two are shy. After, what, eight hundred years?" Madeline scoffed.

"Give or take," Eric smirked.

"Eric," Sookie whispered, a knot in her throat. She felt a seriousness overcome her; something inside her that told her not to make light of the moment, to appreciate it for all of its worth. To treat it as a promise, to give it the gravity it deserved. Eric turned his attention back to Sookie, stroking her hair with his fingers lightly.

"Forever, right?" he replied, placing his palm at her heart.

"Forever," she agreed.

Madeline nodded and began to speak. She bound them together in a new way. Their vows, spoken. Their rings, exchanged. Their love represented as man and woman, as husband and wife. It was a ceremony, a tradition, an invention. Yet, to Sookie, she felt irrevocably changed in a way she had not expected, had not anticipated. She felt human. And, as she gazed into Eric's eyes shining with tender affection, with hope and with love, she knew he felt the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you spot the references to chapter one in here? we're closing loops, y'all. only two chapters to go... stay healthy, stay safe x


	23. Perfect and Imperfect

**Scandinavia, 936**

He hadn't expected to see her that day, or any day. She was a figment, a fever dream lost to time, saving him with magic told of only in stories and giving him a second chance at life. A part of him wondered if he'd imagined the whole episode–the duel, the stables, the win and the wound–had the scar not knitted itself into a permanent mark beneath his ribs. He felt the rough skin beneath his fingertips, the way it bulged. It felt warmer, somehow, than the rest of his body, like he'd held it closest to the fire and raised its temperature. He forbade his wife to touch it, though she tried during their lovemaking. Even his children, their curious hands always reaching, knew to stay clear of their father's scar.

His youngest son sat on his shoulders, carefree in regards to the world around him, the rabble, the hunger, the battle they were preparing for. Eric tried to remember what it was like being that young, what it felt like, what it tasted like, to have not a single inhibition, to live solely unto himself. He couldn't. For as long as his memory served, he'd strived for something, bore something on his shoulders, provided for someone, fought and won and lost. His life felt endless, yet incredibly short. There was a finality to the day, to the season. To the siege. He knew it would be his last. It was foretold, written deep in his bones, tattooed to his skin just like the scar.

That was why, though he hadn't expected to see her that day, it made more sense than anything in his life thus far. Like the sun rising in the east and setting in the west, like the north star above his head guiding him home, of course she would arrive when he needed him most. That was just the nature of things. Of course she would be there to shepherd him, her soft hands caressing his own, leading him to his destiny with a supple, welcome touch. His son squealed on his shoulders, helpless to his anxious age, his desire to run and be free. Eric reached up and grabbed his arms, swinging him down to the muddy ground beneath them. The boy's eyes–the wild blue that mirrored Eric's so precisely–swung wide, looking for trouble. Eric warned him off of it, careful to keep her in his peripheral all the while. She stood still, marking him as he marked her. Waiting for him as he waited for her.

Before he approached her, he dressed himself in confidence like tugging on a pair of worn trousers, shouldering the crown's weight with the carelessness of a God-given right. He was stronger than he was when she'd last seen him, more formidable. They were now his responsibility, these men. Their lives in his hands. Their families, their kin. And her, too. They were all in his charge and for them he would serve the role of leader, of protector, of steward of victory and prosperity. Even if he didn't see that prosperity himself. That was his burden to bear.

The commotion around them dulled to background noise, a quiet hum as he walked to her, stopping, standing so close he could smell her scent: something floral and ancient, foreign, half of this world and half beyond.

"I thought I dreamt of you," he admitted, for he already knew a fundamental truth. She was a part of him and there was nothing he could not say. All was private to her, all was secret between them. "Sookie. I am Eric."

"I know," she replied, a small, incredulous smile on her lips. Of course she knew. How could one not know the being in which they inhabit? It would be as strange as one not recognizing their own skin, their own face in a mirror. "It was no dream."

He wanted to smile, though he knew it to be inappropriate. Of course it was no dream. He had the scar on his chest to show for it.

"You look just the same as I remember. Well, less mud." In truth, she looked glorious, even then but incredibly so now, her skin milky-white, blonde hair luminescent, glinting in the sun. Her cheeks were flushed, alive, her blue eyes staring into his own with an unmatched fervor, with an awareness and an intelligence that he trusted only in his fiercest allies. It made him move closer to her, accompanied by the ache to draw her in, intending for both to meet in the middle.

She laughed then as if he had told a joke. He did not understand it but he didn't mind, as her smile transformed her face into that of a child, lighthearted and carefree.

"You look the same as well. Less blood," she replied. Of course. The last time she saw him he was nearly dead in the stable, the unstoppable wound draining him to his last breath.

"Yes, because of your…" He meant to continue, to reference her power and how she chose to save him, though he stopped in response to the firm shake of her head. There were people all around, many curious glances he had failed to notice. Wholly unlike him, the sheer ignorance of his own surroundings. Even his brothers and cousins were perusing their conversation, surely intending to report to the gossiping crowds afterward. He couldn't be bothered to care. This was the end, after all, and petty matters did not affect one's descent into the world beyond, a world to which the woman before him belonged so obviously, so wholeheartedly, it was a miracle that everyone else could not see it, too.

"I stopped the bleeding," she said firmly, acknowledging their connection without alluding to anything further. He took in the seriousness of her expression, understood the importance that he let the line of conversation drop.

"Yes, I told no one," he promised, wanting to assure her of so much. Wanting her to trust him, not just trust his words but his body, his startling affections. He wanted her to trust his heart. He swallowed, fearful of the sudden notion. She blinded him to what should be at the forefront of his mind: the upcoming conquest, the inevitable battles, the lives of his men and their families. He would need her near, but she could not lead him to folly. He would not lose focus. He would not allow it. He would root out his desire at the source.

"We leave when the moon is at its apex," he explained, gesturing with his chin to the gates. "You will come to my quarters beforehand."

Again, she laughed. Again, he did not understand the comedy. He was not to be refused. Perhaps she was uncomfortable going to his quarters? Concerned for who would see and what they would think? But Eric was not foreign to the attention of his mistresses, and those around him knew of his proclivities and did not shame him for them. It was not the Viking way, to ignore pleasure, to postpone it in regards to faith or virtue. Life was meant to be lived.

"You want me to come for you? My wife may show concern," he paused, thinking, trying to deduce her apprehension and quell it. His wife knew of his relations and preferred them to take place in their home, as did he for her relations. Wandering was not ideal, but, for Sookie, he could surely make an exception. "But I will do it," he said firmly, glad to be confident in his allowance. There was no time but the present. "I must have you."

He wanted to reach for her then, watching as her cheeks flushed with passion, her eyes bright and sure. But, in stark contrast, she was already moving away.

"I will see you when the moon reaches its apex," she said, turning on her toe, her hair a wave of blonde in the wind. He watched her depart, a restless anxiety growing within him, a foreign notion to chase and hold and keep. He did not have these troubles with women, did not feel a desire to bend their will to his own, did not see the necessity in it. Surely, he could catch up to her. He could convince her or, if that failed, he could compel her. She was powerful–of the mysterious, ethereal kind–but he was still larger than her, stronger than her.

Yet he stayed frozen, waiting as she dissolved into the crowd. With one last look over her shoulder, she was gone.

He came to a startling conclusion, standing there in the square, the energy around him building to a fever pitch. He came to it so quickly that it unnerved him. He would take what she could offer and nothing more, he would follow her but he would not force her, he would give himself to her fully in exchange for whatever she deemed to give him in return. For her grace, for her presence, for her compassion when it mattered most. He would ask for her closeness and hope that she would provide it, for that was all he could do when the gates of the afterlife opened to him, beckoning him to all that lay beyond them.

Would she be there with the cavalry? Would she stay true to her word? Would he see her in the crowd when the moon reached its apex?

He hoped so, for he knew that as he walked into battle, as he threw himself into the valley of the shadow of death, he needed her near to him.

**Louisiana, 2008**

Eric prepared for battle. He went through the motions. They were familiar to him, a pattern recognized over years of the same actions, the same rituals. Whether it was a small battle or a full-out war, the experience was much the same. A closing off of the mind, an unlocking of the physical, a readiness that built from his core and extended to his extremities, turning every muscle, every bone, every nerve into a weapon.

With gloved hands, he loaded the silver chains, cuffs, and bullets into a bag. Beside him, Pam and Madeline did the same, their actions choreographed with smooth efficiency, their moves as silent as the air around them. All the while, Eric kept his bond with Sookie active, kept an eye on the phone at his desk. Neither connection was promising. The phone hadn't rung since Eric made his call to Hadley two nights prior, and his already weak bond with Sookie was dissipating rapidly. Too rapidly. He could hardly feel her anymore, like Russell was actively draining Eric from her bloodstream. Eric felt that part of him lessening, dissolving, the sensation he recognized with cruel clarity.

"I can't wait any longer," Eric announced. He was barely holding on to what was left of their connection, two fingers dangling from the cliff's edge.

"Then we will go in with you," Pam replied calmly.

"You will not," Eric snapped into the air between them, long fangs a warning of violence.

"Eric," she said flatly, crossing her arms.

"I command it," he said abruptly. He had no time for arguments. He would not send Pam to her death, his only Child, his legacy. It was simply not an option. Pam's mouth gaped open; Madeline glanced between the two warily.

"Eric," Pam said again, her voice now burying a slight waver.

Eric did not answer her. He shrugged the bag of silver over his shoulder, knowing the likelihood of using any of it very low. His greatest weapons were his muscles, his instincts. Anything additional would slow him down, make him clumsy, impede his efforts. Pam and Madeline followed him to the car, a black SUV with specially-designed windows to deter light. It was well past sunset, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Eric threw himself into the driver's seat with little care, glancing at the two vampires in the side mirror. Would it be the last time he saw them? He couldn't be sure. He'd gone to battle before when the odds were stacked against him and he'd come out on top. But he'd also lost. He was not infallible.

He gritted his teeth, throwing the car into drive. He would not say goodbye. He felt a rush of emotion from Pam through their bond and let it overtake him. He held onto the feelings–family, hope, and love–until he was out on the highway. Then, he turned them off, succumbing to the numbing, blank nature of focus, to the singularity of his task ahead. He could not fail. He would not fail. Before him, the road reached toward the horizon, a straight, solid, unending thing. He drove as aggressively as he could, pushing the engine until it groaned. But, still, it felt as though he made no progress. It felt as though he was no closer to his goal. Was no closer to Sookie.

A simulation, trapped on a treadmill, going nowhere fast.

x

Sookie awoke to the sound of pouring rain. Wind rattled the glass, traversing the cavernous house in wails. She shuddered, burrowing deeper into the blankets of the bed. Ever since arriving at Russell's mansion, she'd been indescribably cold, as if not even standing in the heart of the sun would warm her. It would be sunset soon. She anticipated more of the same. A hot meal, served by an obviously-glamoured human, followed by the werewolf stationed outside her door herding her into the study. Whether that study would be empty or occupied depended on the night, but the process was always the same. Small talk followed by the needle, a puncture at the bruised crook of her elbow, the undulating feeling, like being swept up in a tide, as the blood dripped from her arm into the waiting bag below.

She had expected Eric to come for her, thought that he would be right on her heels. But he never appeared. Stubbornly, she made excuses for him in her mind. He must be trapped, he must be waiting for some particular reason. There must be an important fact she did not understand, an explanation as to her sudden abandonment, her kidnapping. Russell did not answer her questions. In fact, beyond the obligatory chatter, he hardly spoke to her at all. The charismatic, triumphant vampire she encountered on that first night outside of her house was slowly chipping away into someone more primal, someone annoyed and frustrated.

There was a knock on the door and Sookie sat up as the maid entered, crossing to the large windows and throwing open the heavy curtains. The night was bleak, thick as porridge, rain falling against the glass in a steady stream, washing the room in warbling moonlight as if they lived underwater. Sookie stood, unsteady on her feet. She was pale, withdrawn. She tried to read the human's mind, but it was futile. She was glamoured into submission, into ignorance, her mind as hazy as the view outside. Sookie resigned herself to the food placed before her: a strategic mix of proteins and carbs. Though it was cooked to perfection, it tasted of ash in her mouth. She took a few bites and set it aside, awaiting the next step in the process.

Instead of the werewolf guard, Russell thundered into the room, his expression murderous. His normally pale skin looked off, flushed, red and scabbed over in patches on both his face and arms. He hissed at her, his robe billowing off his shoulder like a cape.

"What is wrong with your blood?" he raged, slamming the door behind him. The maid scurried backwards, pressing herself against the wall as if that would hide her presence in any way.

"I don't know what you mean," Sookie replied, excruciatingly calm.

That only seemed to anger him more, his hackles rising as if he were a wild animal preparing for a fight. In a way, she supposed, he was. Her hands gripped the silken sheets beneath her, feeling their warmth grow as Russell approached her, a look of death about him. The moment before a kill.

"There," he all-but shrieked, pointing at her hands, now lighter than the bulbs that flickered above them, "You are fairy. So why does it not work?"

"I don't know what you mean," she repeated solemnly, willing her hands to relax.

"Is this a game to you? Do you intend to poison me? Trick me with a promise of the sun only to have my blood burn after but a taste of its warmth?" He was towering over her now. She could smell him, the acrid scent of death and decay. His coldness radiated outward toward her like tendrils wrapping around her wrists, her ankles.

"How many times do you want me to say it?" she cried, throwing her hands up in defeat. "Just let me go."

Russell laughed then, the abrupt transformation of his mood shocking her, his disbelief blatant.

"Millennia. Millennia is how long it has taken me to capture a fairy and now you would like me to let you go?"

"You are cruel," she snapped, lunging toward him like a leashed dog.

"Am I treating you so poorly here in your lovely bed with your gourmet food and your personal staff? You have no idea how cruel I can be," he threatened. "But we are civilized now, are we not? You can have your cake and I can eat you, too." He smirked at that, his own private joke.

Russell moved from her then, pacing back and forth, a caged beast, his hands locked behind his back. He stalked to the window, gazing out, silhouetted by the pouring rain washing around him, his figure fuming yet weak like a child throwing a futile tantrum. He took several deep breaths then turned to her once more, his face smooth as a still ocean and just as deceptively deep.

"I think my method is the problem. I need more and straight from the source." He nodded, sure of himself. Sookie could only watch as his fangs dropped, as he approached her with a slight cock to his head, one of determination and curiosity. Sookie backed up out of instinct, sliding across the bed and away from him. But it was of no use. At the first sign of resistance, he was upon her, his cold body pressing her into submission, his fangs sinking deep into her neck.

When she came to, she was bleeding and disoriented. She lay on something hard and there was an insistent, repetitive noise. A crashing, a slamming, the repeated artillery fire of bullets. It was as if she landed in the middle of a battlefield, stuck in the crossfire of competing forces, trapped in no man's land without a clear idea how she got there in the first place. She struggled to open her eyes, feeling the wet thickness of blood dripping from her neck, raising her hand to staunch the flow. The liquid seeped through her fingers, open like a tap. There was a gash there, a cut, like the slice of a crude blade, not two puncture wounds of fangs.

That was the last thing she remembered. Russell before her, the greed in his eyes, the unstoppable, untempered want. He hadn't simply bit her. He had ripped her apart. She cracked her eyes open. Russell was there, but so was Eric. They circled each other, two sides of a mirror, a feint for a feint, a lunge for a lunge. Sookie wondered if she was dreaming. They floated before her, their feet ghosting over the ground, movements invisible then still, fangs bared. Russell was saying something but she couldn't make out the words. His face was gleeful. Taunting. Whatever he said infuriated Eric, his fangs so long they extended to his lower lip, the cruel sound of a hissing growl ripping from his chest.

"Eric," she tried to call out, though the sound was no more than a whisper. She realized, then, that she was horizontal. That the world was shifted on its axis, and that Eric's eyes were cast downward to see her. That moment of hesitation, that awareness cost him. Sookie watched as Eric's body went flying, slamming into the window with a reverberating crash. Glass shattered around him as he pushed himself up, his shoulders curled in aggression, fingers splayed, stance wide. Battle stance. Sookie blinked and it was as if a different vampire were standing there, not Eric, but a smaller, lithe form prepared for the best and anticipating the worst. A vampire she dreamed of once, a dead Maker. He had a natural ease, an instinctual effectiveness, a confidence in his own abilities, his muscles and how they would respond. She blinked and it was Eric again, using that same technique, lunging toward Russell with abandon.

Russell had him down in a second, his back on the granite floor, cracks growing in the impervious stone as a direct result of the force. Sookie cringed, collapsing in on herself. Everything began to feel real, too real. Like this was actually happening. Like the rain blowing through the shattered glass window gathered in real puddles, like her blood reaching out to meet the water was real in and of itself. Sookie's hand clamped down on her neck, pressing harder. It hurt but it was necessary. Within her, she felt her own pain followed by the echo of Eric's. Felt her own rage followed by his own. It caused something to build inside her, something impossible to deny and overriding.

There was an exhilarating sound, a tremendous disturbance as another vampire flew through the open window, its body colliding with Russell's. It was two against one, Sookie realized. Russell was at a disadvantage. But Eric was no longer fighting. _No_ , Sookie wanted to shout as Eric bolted to her, crouching before her, his forearm already outstretched, blood dripping from two puncture holes she hadn't even seen him bite. _No, never turn your back on the enemy._

"Drink, Sookie," Eric ordered, a thick gash in his cheek, his hair wild. She felt his other arm beneath her, scooping her into his chest. "Drink, please. Please, please." He was very close to her then, his breath on her ear, a desperation in his voice that made her throat feel thick and full, like a hand was grasping tightly, squeezing. Sookie latched on, all the while listening to the sounds around her, knowing she was amongst it but feeling apart somehow, like watching an old movie with unsynced sound, the orchestra tangible before her but the picture so distant, so untouchable and strange. Her eyelids flickered, the taste of Eric's blood familiar on her tongue.

There was a flash of light, blinding, so bright it made no sense in the darkness of the rainy midnight. Sookie fell back to the ground, Eric's arm ripped from her mouth with surprising force. She felt his blood course through her, she felt it bring an awareness to her senses, as if waking from a deep slumber, thrust back into reality, thrown from the bow of the ship into icy cold water. She flailed, taking in the scene. Eric stood with his back to her, crouched, threatening his opponent. There was Russell, advancing, one arm hanging limp at his side. Madeline, the bartender from Fangtasia, slumped against the far wall, immobile. Hadley, her eyes locked on Sookie, standing behind an elderly man, whose face betrayed a power that was not to be ignored.

The man. He, too, was looking at Sookie with an impenetrable gaze. Though she had never seen him in her life, she had a nagging sense that she knew him and that he was important. She did not have long to dwell on the feeling, as both the man and Russell were advancing on Eric. Slow, deliberate steps of impending doom, murderous and raw.

"Stop!" Sookie cried, though it was futile. She heard, distantly, Hadley mimic her protestation. But they kept advancing, ignorant or uncaring or both. Eric withdrew a step, a small concession, backing up toward Sookie, his gaze cast strategically left and right, his hands flexing at his sides. Instead of dropping further, Sookie watched as Eric's body relaxed. He stood straight, arms limp at his sides. He was giving up. Sookie panicked, launching herself in Eric's direction. Eric turned toward her, a peaceful smile on his face, one palm out. Sookie could not reach it. He was too far. There wasn't enough time.

Both men lunged, but so did Sookie. There was a dam inside her, a wall, a permanent thing built brick by brick, towering so high it enveloped part of who she was. She felt it, she felt herself pressed up against it, felt the vampire blood inside her threatening to tear it down, to burst through and unleash everything behind in a rush, a river of power. She shrieked, feeling the heat boil up, so potent that it would explode out of her in a torrent from every part of her being. Before her, Eric dropped to his knees, the final surrender that she would not allow. His eyes widened. That was the last thing she saw: those two blue eyes, staring at her, surprised yet content, a look of impressed awe on his features. Sookie thrust her palms out, one at each enemy, a white light emanating from them both, the white of deletion, the reflection of all color into emptiness. An unwavering, cruel, killer power.

The dam overflowed and with it came the memories. They played before her eyes, a record skipping then repeating, moments in time without context knitting together into the quilt of her life. She could feel them and all the emotions that came with, the pleasure and the unbearable happiness, the hurt and the torture, the physical and the emotional emptiness. Eric's face over and over again in a thousand different settings, a thousand different times. Godric, his Maker, his cruelty and his kindness. Other vampires through the years, their homes, their travels, their separations and their reunions. All of it swirled in her mind, overlapping, a stream of consciousness in under a second, a lifetime in the blink of an eye. She gasped, taking stock once more in her surroundings.

Eric still kneeled before her, a searching gaze. Beyond him lay two bodies: one vampire and one fairy. Her grandfather. She cried out, pushing herself up on stumbling feet and running toward him, collapsing atop his chest. She felt his heartbeat, the weak pulse from deep within him, the flicker of his eyelids as he hunted for awareness but could not find it.

"Niall," she whispered, holding his limp palm to her cheek. It was already cold, powerless. She had done that. It was her. Sookie wanted to weep, wanted to break apart. But she could not. Eric was by her side, a solid presence, Hadley across from her, the tracks of tears shining on her cheeks. Sookie turned to Eric, seeing him for the first time in so long, the ache of sadness and the ache of happiness at war inside her. How could she feel so wrong and so right simultaneously? It tormented her. "Please," she whispered to Eric.

He knew what she was asking without her having to say it. He always knew. Eric nodded, dropping his fangs with a click. They pierced through the flesh of his palm easily, his nose wrinkling in response. The blood flowed. And though Eric had already given so much of himself, he gave more to the one man who wanted to kill him most of all.

He gave his blood to Niall.

Eric grunted as Niall drank, bracing himself against the stone floor, his clothing ripped and torn, his focus overriding any other emotion. Sookie tugged at their bond, a weak thing flickering inside her, only a shadow of the power it once had. Eric turned to her in response, his mouth parting slightly. He felt it, too. Niall began to wake, slowly, tremulously. Eric removed his hand, locked it against his chest to the root of their bond, its impervious source. Sookie placed her hand atop his own, communicating with her eyes what could not yet communicate with her words. That she knew him. That she remembered everyone and everything. All of it. With but a flicker of Eric's eyelashes, Sookie knew he understood.

"Sookie?" Niall's voice was gruff, searching.

"I'm here," she whispered, clutching her grandfather's limp body to her.

"How?" he asked, self-aware as always, knowing himself to be on death's door.

"Eric saved you," she explained. "He gave you his blood."

Sookie watched as Niall turned his face toward Eric, tilted it slightly in question and in gratitude.

"A life for a life," Eric said solemnly, standing and walking away from them.

Sookie pulled her cousin and her grandfather into a tight hug. They had come for her, they had tried to save her, and, because of their strength, she was able to save herself. Hadley sniffed, mumbling useless apologies into Sookie's ear. Forgiveness was no longer necessary. They had to move forward, into a perfectly imperfect future of coexistence, of family, and of love.

There was a sinking sound as Eric plunged the stake into Russell's heart. A void coalescing unto itself, the liquid heat of death. Hadley left their embrace, approaching Madeline as she lay propped up against the wall, hovering in and out of consciousness. With a shard of glass, she drew blood on her forearm, raising it to Madeline's mouth. Sookie watched, amazed, as Hadley thanked her, as Madeline grew strong once more with the fairy blood, her eyes alive and wanting. Sookie smiled, amazed at the people she cared for. Their courage and their temerity.

"Where is Pam?" Sookie asked suddenly, the room absent one important vampire.

"Eric commanded her to stay away," Madeline said, rolling her eyes. "But don't worry, she's right outside."

"Madeline," Eric snapped, dropping the stake with a clatter.

"What?" she winked coyly. "You commanded her not to come in and she didn't come in, did she? Plus, we had to help the fairies get here somehow. For supernatural beings, it sucks you guys can just, like, get shot with a gun."

Niall's laugh pierced the silence. Sookie looked at him, perplexed.

"What? She's right, isn't she?" he admitted, already stronger, pushing himself to his feet.

"Perhaps we are weak," Sookie said. "I know I am. Russell himself realized it, which is why he tried to kill me. My half-fae blood couldn't keep him in the sun for the full day."

"You are not weak. You are as powerful as a pureblood if not more," Niall replied. "We have all seen that today."

"I'm sorry," she said softly. She had unleashed her weapon, however unknowingly, upon her kin. She had nearly killed her grandfather by her own hand.

"Don't be," Niall said seriously and with great purpose. "You were protecting someone you love. I understand what it means to go to great lengths for such a thing." Niall nodded at both Sookie and Eric then, an acknowledgement paired with an agreement, a debt absconded. Mistakes borne from the best intentions are perhaps the most potent, the most dire of all. There was no one in that room foreign to the notion.

Sookie hugged her grandfather and her cousin one more time, knowing they intended to leave. And they hugged her back, knowing she intended to stay. Niall kissed the top of her head, a stranger to connection turned warm, his love and apology pouring outward in physical touch. They parted with small smiles of thanks and understanding, leaving her in the mansion that nearly killed her but ended up saving her instead.

She turned then, thankful for the trials that lead to great happiness, and returned to Eric's waiting embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter. love u guys


	24. Endings and Beginnings

**Portland, 1971**

"I didn't know this many vampires lived in the Pacific Northwest," Sookie observed, gazing out at the crowded floors of Ravenscroft. The line outside wrapped around the block, the werewolves monitoring capacity. Pam looked both thrilled and smug, her arms crossed in front of her, one leg canted outward, a heel tapping against the newly-laid wooden flooring. Sookie had to hand it to her. Pam knew how to make a venue that everyone would be dying to be at, were most of her clientele not already dead.

"I think it'll calm down in a few weeks," she said, trying for modest. "Everyone wants to come check out the shiny new toy. Looks like some of the vamps in here traveled a long way, I recognize a few of them from a coven up near Canada."

Sookie let out a low whistle. That was an awful long trip just for a night at a strip club. Then again, these types of services, so public and open, were new to the supernatural community. She, herself, knew how few things truly felt new after an immortal existence. Anything with even a hint of commodity would attract even the most unlikely beings. From her vantage point, she could see both the stage and the bar. There was a cluster of werewolves jockeying for shots near a pair of annoyed teenage-looking vampires, though their appearance surely did not betray their true age. Two vampires made eyes at each other across the dance floor. A King she recognized from a distant state sauntered through the door. Madeline swung deftly around a stripper pole, clad in bits of lingerie, her face alight in joy. She always did love the attention on her. And, boy, did she have it.

Many were dancing, many were chatting, many were intermingling joyously. It felt so… human. It looked human. At the root of things, everyone just wanted a night to have fun, let loose. Sookie swiveled around, her long blonde hair half pulled back in a ponytail, the tips left down brushing the top of her waist. She'd worn a halter held fast by two thin strings, one at the top of her breasts and the other at her lower back, paired with jeans whose wide bottoms brushed the floor. Eric had been in a sour mood lately, unwilling to partake in any of Pam's festivities at Ravenscroft. It was a melancholic attitude she sometimes found him in, particularly in the period after Godric's death. He'd fall in, fall out. She'd help him through it as she always did.

She tugged on their bond, tingeing it with lust so he knew what he was missing. She felt his response, part reluctance, part resistance, part pure stubbornness.

"Pam, would you do me a favor?" Sookie asked, mischievously inspired.

Pam raised an eyebrow in response, waiting.

"I'm going to dance with some wolves. Want to show Eric what he's missing?"

"Naughty," Pam smirked, tilting her head slightly in acquiescence. "Off you go."

Sookie made sure Pam was tracking her while she dove into the thick, thrumming crowd. The music and bodies pulsed around her, an intoxicating mixture of the cool vampires and the boiling hot werewolves. She found the cluster of wolves at the bar, their rowdiness quieting at Sookie's arrival. The watched her appraisingly, likely curious as to what a human was doing in the supernatural bar. The wolves were oblivious to Sookie's scent, her actual supernatural bent, but they were not immune to the amount of tanned, golden skin she was showing.

"Got an extra shot?" she asked, smiling coyly for Pam's benefit. What Pam saw, Eric saw. And what Eric saw was what mattered.

One of the wolves nodded, passing her an overflowing shot glass of murky brown liquid. She knocked it back, the heat pouring through her like liquid fire, landing in her belly and swirling around. She felt as hot as the wolves, and just as daring.

"Want to dance?" one of them finally asked after several moments of expectant waiting. He was large and muscled, as most werewolves were, oversized with the gruff attitude of someone who spent the majority of their life outdoors, in the woods. Sookie nodded, placing her hand in his as they walked together to the dance floor.

He was a good dancer, despite his size. He hovered near her, respectful at first, hands brushing the tops of her jeans, calloused fingers on her bare skin. She twirled before him, carefree, sneaking peeks at her bond with Eric. It was relatively quiet, muted. Sookie lifted her hair, determined now. She would show her neck, commit herself more fully to the part. She was laying her trap, determined to snare her prey. Sookie draped her arms around the wolf's neck, feeling the scratch of his dark beard. His eyes flashed greedily, a small smile on his lips. Sookie realized then that she would've found him attractive, perhaps wanted to get to know him more. In another life, one in which she hadn't given herself so completely to Eric.

There was a flash of fire through her bond, as potent as the whiskey in her gut. Sookie grinned. Game, set, match.

Two songs later, the warm hands of the wolf were abruptly replaced by a pair of cold, sure ones. Sookie's eyes were closed, one with the music, letting the beat carry her, her cheeks flushed, beads of sweat dotting her temples. She heard the wolf's muted protestation, chanced a trip into his mind to see what the wolf saw. It was hazy, as all impressions wolves gave, but the image was clear enough. Eric, the ancient vampire all supernatural beings in the area knew to stay clear of, had taken his place. His fangs were not out but the message was clear. _Mine_.

Sookie opened her eyes to reveal Eric's face before her, his hair wild from sleep, his body draped in black. She dipped her hands under his leather jacket, reaching around to his back, holding him to her.

"Are you done brooding?" she asked under the music, letting her fingers linger beneath his wifebeater, warming his skin with a gentle pulse. He jolted, dropping toward her, the electricity closing the space between them, his hands woven into her hair.

"You've forgotten the back of your shirt," he replied instead, ignoring her question, letting his hands trail lower, ghosting over the ties that held the fabric to her sticky skin, twirling the excess around and around and around.

"It's the style. Do you like it?" she asked, looking up at him through her lashes.

"I do," he answered, "as does everyone else."

She scoffed.

"Territoriality is unbecoming," she scolded, pulsing away from him then back to his arms. "They all know I'm yours, anyway," she continued, loud enough for supernatural ears to hear.

His eyes gleamed, one cold palm resting on her neck where the remnants of his last bite–taken in haste amidst their fevered lovemaking–still remained. Eric's fangs snicked out, just a suggestion, his thumb brushing over the thin skin of her clavicle, running through the sweat that gathered there.

"Let's get out of here," he murmured, the oldest trick in the book.

"How original. Is that how you get all the ladies?" she teased, letting the pulse of the music drag them together then away, together then away.

"Only the one that matters," he grinned, flashing his fangs at her, blinks of playful danger beneath the flashing strobe.

Outside, the rain came down in torrents, sparks of lightning on the distant horizon. Fat, turgid drops splashed between them. Humans criss-crossed the streets, ducking in and out of awnings, hailing taxis that sprayed the sidewalks with fans of water. Sookie ran out into it. It was summer, after all. The air was hot, cloying. At this time of year, the rain was a gift. A balm. She raised her face up to the sky, welcoming the drops sparkling beneath the roiling clouds above.

Eric watched her from beneath the eave, standing beside the werewolf bouncer who looked as though he wished to be a thousand feet farther away. Eric, however, was oblivious, the small smile on his face growing as Sookie raised her arms, her hair plastered to her skin, her eyes bright, the rain washing everything away.

"Would you like to go higher?" Eric called over the sound of water on pavement, beckoning upward with his chin. Sookie knew what he was asking. She grinned, nodded. Eric stepped out into the tumult, wrapping her beneath his jacket. With a slide and a jolt, they flew into the storm.

**Coast of England, 1380**

"Watch out for the air pockets!" Godric shouted, his eyes tracking Eric in the distance. From their spot on the beach, Sookie could barely see Eric anymore, just a speck amongst the clouds. Godric stretched out, the starlight glancing atop his pale skin, giving him her favorite ethereal glow. It was a chilly night, the salty brine of the seawater filling her nostrils, the grains of sand soft as down beneath her. Godric took off his jacket, handing it to her as the temperature steadily dropped. She used it as a blanket, huddling beneath the excess fabric in a cocoon.

"Is he improving?" Sookie asked, peering into the night. Godric shrugged, arms above him, legs splayed below, eyes hardly open. If she didn't know any better, Sookie would think him asleep.

There was a strong gust of wind. Eric twisted and turned, then, like a meteor, came crashing down, a crater of sand around him. He stood up, moving his neck this way and that, brushing off his shoulders. A frightened crab skittered away down the coastline, the caw of an angry seagull in the distance.

"I said to watch out for air pockets," Godric said calmly as Eric approached, his posture tight with frustration.

"I was," Eric snapped, plopping himself aggressively beside Sookie. He unlaced his boots, turning them over and dumping the sand back to where it belonged. "Are you too cold?" Eric asked, running his hand along the jacket that now covered Sookie, his voice significantly gentler.

"I'm fine," Sookie smiled. Godric stood, suddenly alive once more.

"Come," Godric said, his hand outstretched toward Eric. "I'll teach you how to feel them. It's quite simple, the difference in the air pressure. It's like a tickle against the skin." Before Eric could respond, Godric flew up, graceful, elegant, silent.

"Show off," Eric grumbled under his breath, though, without hesitation, he followed his Maker skyward.

**Naples, 1055**

Sookie awoke on a bed layered with the softest fabrics she'd felt in recent memory. She curled up like a cat, burrowing beneath the textures, the colors. Around her, there was a slight perfume, something earthy and floral, like a garden in springtime. The tinkle of a windchime sounded in the breeze and, when she opened her eyes, she realized the windows were thrown wide open, welcoming in the night. She stared out through them, at the flickering glow of the city beneath, the lanterns and candles little speckles dotting the rolling, undulating fabric of villages below.

Sookie didn't want to get up, the warm glow of the candle at her bedside bathing her in a semi-circle of light. She felt perfectly content to stay in that bed forever, perfectly satisfied to smell the wind as it wafted through the sheer curtains draped over the stone window frame, the animal skin beneath which she lay, her hair tangled. She catalogued her body, testing its readiness, the stiff muscles and the sore areas. Godric had taken a vacation, citing his desire to leave them to their own devices. And they had taken full advantage, spending each night together in the bed, hardly bothering to leave for sustenance or exploration, instead choosing to re-learn each other's forms, their hidden nuances, their skin and their touch and their taste.

She'd slept in later than expected, which was perhaps why she didn't expect their return. The door to the room slammed open, Sookie clutching her sheets to her chest, guarding her nakedness in a futile gesture. Godric swaggered in, stumbling over his feet, Eric right behind. Each had blood dripping from their mouths, down their clothes to their drawstring trousers. Eric's hair was wild, tangled and long, Godric's close-cropped cut spiky and shorn. His tattoos peeked out from beneath his mangled clothing, a wicked smile atop his fanged teeth.

"Sookie!" he shouted, flashing to the bed, straddling her legs atop the blankets. "Eric tells me of the fun you had in my absence."

"Godric, what on earth?" she asked, flabbergasted, glancing to Eric tripping over his own feet in the corner.

"Well, we had fun tonight, too," he grinned.

"I can see that," she smirked.

"You were sleeping, you can't come when you're sleeping." Godric's words slurred, he dropped his body down beside Sookie's, a flurry of fabric.

"Move," Eric grumbled, pulling at his Maker's leg until Godric rolled over a few feet, pushing himself against Sookie in the newly-created space, rutting against her leg through the fabric like an animal. "Sookie," he murmured, his hands clumsily reaching beneath the blankets, fumbling against her breast. "Very nice," he grinned boyishly, his bloodied lips a stark contrast to his innocent expression.

"How much did you drink tonight?" Sookie asked, careful of the smile playing on her own lips.

Eric only grinned wider, reaching up to touch Sookie's nose with his fingertip.

"How much?" she tried again.

"A lot!" Godric shouted from his place at the foot of the bed. He then began laughing inexplicably, such pure joy that Sookie could feel it flow through him to Eric, then through Eric to her own body. Sookie giggled then, unable to help herself, until all three of them lay on the bed laughing at nothing, at no one.

Eric began to undress, caring not for his Maker, pulling his shirt over his head and untying his trousers, the dirtied, bloodied fabric dropping to the floor with haste. Godric's eyes were closed, a small grin on his face, like he'd slipped into some middle space between dream and reality, hovering on the edge of consciousness. Eric threw back the blankets, sliding in beside Sookie, gathering her into his chest. He was already hard, waiting, his cool breath against her neck, his body cradling hers from behind. His actions were clumsy yet tantalizing, his tongue tracing a line up the back of her neck, his fingers in her hair then moving downward, clutching her breasts, twirling her nipples, moving lower, brushing across her belly button and between her legs until she was arching against him, her breathing hot and heavy.

"Eric," she murmured, reaching back to grasp him, feeling the thrust against the back of her legs, her butt.

"Don't let me interrupt," Godric said suddenly, with a sly edge. He disappeared from the room as if he were never there at all, the door closed before Sookie could blink. Sookie could care less anyway, enveloped as she was by Eric, his cold, hard form wrapping around her, pressing down upon her, insistent, insisting. She pushed him until he lay on his back, forced his hands above his head. He moaned roughly, low and deep, when her tongue dipped into his mouth, teeth traveling along his jaw, biting at his earlobe.

"I want more," he requested, his drunkenness endearing, lifting any veil placed upon him until he was pure want, pure need. She felt his fingertips dig into the soft skin of her hips, her belly, pulling her down onto him until he was sheathed completely inside of her. She gasped at how ready he was, his sudden thrust causing her eyes to roll back. Sometimes, she marveled at how much she wanted him, needed him. How she desired it all, his face creased with pleasure beneath her, his blonde hair intermingling with her own, their coloring so similar, like puzzle pieces designed to match. His fangs, coated with stranger's blood, did not bother her. In that regard, his need outweighed what she could provide. But in this regard, with him splayed out, reaching toward her, grasping her, wanting her, she gave all of herself. She met his need with her own and beckoned him further, asking for more and more and more.

He crushed her to him, flipping them over until he hovered above her, their bodies sliding against each other roughly, with aggression. There was a wildness to his tone, to his actions. Like this was the beginning, the ending, and everything in-between. Perhaps it was. She clutched him to her as hard as she could, feeling the muscles tremble beneath his skin, the flex and release of each thrust, his growl as he thundered into oblivion, gasping against her neck, lapping at her sweaty skin with his tongue. But she wasn't ready yet, she wasn't done yet.

"Keep going," she whined, feeling him relax against her, the sleepy stillness of his body coming to fruition. He pushed himself up with his forearms, tracing her eyebrows with his fingers, seeing her need there and everywhere. Grunting, he pushed himself down her body, attending to her in all of her favorite spots. She draped her legs over his shoulders, letting his face rest between them, letting him bring her to the edge she so desired every single night after night after night. It wasn't long before she was shaking around him, the gasps of her breaths the only sound in the room, fully satisfied.

Eric rolled onto his back, splayed beside her like he'd just run a marathon, absurdly still, his eyes closed.

"Min kärlek," he whispered, addressing her in awe and in gratitude.

"Min kärlek," she repeated, curling into his side, feeling the solid planes of him beneath her, a welcome heaviness taking over her body, beckoning her back into the warm embrace of sleep.

**Paris, 1810**

"Stop pulling at it," Sookie reprimanded as Eric's fingers had once again found themselves inside the cravat at his neck.

"It's stifling," Eric grumbled, walking behind Sookie as patiently as he could muster, the leather of his shoes squeaking against the cool marble beneath them. Sookie had heard of the Louvre right when it was built, followed its opening and the glamorous parties, traced the art in each exhibit back to its source, and desired more than anything to see it in person. Who was he to deny her such a pure request, even if it left him uncomfortable in situation and finery?

She was positively brimming with excitement, her long dress whispering on the stone, the layers of fabric shielding him from the skin he wished to see, more beautiful to him than any painting hung up on the cold, unfeeling walls around them. He trailed her as she explored, hovering on pieces that felt, to him, like repeated versions of things he'd already seen in the past. The originals were lacquered with protective coatings, their varnish turning the portaits oily, the color of mustard and just as shiny. None of the humans seemed to care that the original intent was butchered by years of decay, their faces open with awe at the works before them.

Through Sookie, he could appreciate their existence, the need to turn an experience into something permanent, something tangible and accessible to all. But he did not want to share what he saw with anyone. He wanted to covet, to protect, to keep safe. He imagined painting the scene before him, of Sookie's smile, her cheeks a bright pink as she stared at a particularly stunning landscape, a European farm at the crux of sunset. It would not capture what he felt, the moment he was living. He would not be able to envision its permanence, its essence. The painting would be just another lovely girl in a museum, her regal posture and careful hairstyle one of many.

He couldn't bear for it to be interpreted that way. Not when each moment together held more importance to him than anyone else could possibly understand, not the most inexperienced voyeur nor the most astute art critic. No, he would remember each moment for what it was inside his own mind, the perfection must live forever within him. A banquet of memories, a slideshow of paintings, a private museum for him and him alone.

**Louisiana, 2011**

"Sheriff," Sookie whispered against his chest, a hand pressed against him.

"Say it again," he replied hoarsely, thrusting into her.

"Sheriff," she said, her lips on his nipple. "Sheriff." On his jaw. "Sheriff." On his lips.

**Scottish Highlands, 1420**

In their half a millennia together, Sookie could count on one hand the amount of times she'd seen Eric cry. Even in those moments, the tears of blood were begrudging at best, a single line down his cheek, wiped away in haste. Moments of frustration, of fear, primarily for her or for Godric. Never for himself.

This, however, was different. They sat together in a cave, lit by the dying embers of a fire, mindful not to cast too much light, not to alert any nearby to their location. It was a tenuous, dangerous time. There was so much death, so much destruction. The fairies came back in full force after The Northman's disappearance, picking off newborn vampires practically for sport. They were losing more and more to the cause and the older vampires grew unwilling to create more for Russell's army. Plus, they hadn't succeeded in capturing a single fairy, not a single day of sunlight earned from the carnage. The futility turned reckless and what remained of the vampire army fled, an uprising forcing Russell to abandon his relentless battle.

Now, there were whispers of a hunt. A hunt for The Northman.

They stayed hidden, but they were not thinking of imminent danger. No, they were mourning. Sookie, for her dear friend and Eric for his Maker.

"Godric is gone," he whispered, staring into the dead space between them, eyes focused on nothing. His tears were relentless, bloodshot eyes leaking blood down his cheeks, onto his chest and thighs. Sookie tried to brush them off as best as she could, her hands coated in it, thick and viscous and slippery. She tried to push herself into his lap again, wrapping her arms around him, using her body for comfort. He stayed perfectly still, a statue carved in marble, his cheek pressed against the top of her head.

"I'm so sorry," Sookie whispered, though it was futile. No amount of apology would soothe the grief Eric was experiencing. Sookie knew that. Still, she attempted it, running her hands down his back, kneading the stiff muscles with her fingers. To her surprise, he loosened slightly, his body unlocking. His hands encased her and, for a moment, she thought he was going to hug her in return. Instead, he lifted her up slightly, moving to the corner of the cave where a pile of blankets lay waiting. He set her down upon them, caressing her cheek with one hand, a gesture of thanks and of parting.

"I need to be alone," he admitted. "For a little while."

"I understand," she whispered, though she wanted more than anything to stay with him. Parting was a painful thing that felt permanent until it wasn't. Though he was still before her, she already hoped for his return, waited for it, wished for it. He gave her a sad smile, so brave when surrounded by his sorrow, then disappeared into the night.

**Virginia, 1699**

The ship rocked back and forth, back and forth. She could hear the waves slap against the sides, the groan of the wooden structure as it fought against the power of the water. Sookie stumbled slightly, using the light of her hands to guide her through the pitch black cargo hold, climbing over luggage and boxes and sacks of grain and mulch. It smelled potent beneath the ship, a mixture of mildew and salt and wet, moldy fabric. Sookie followed her bond to Eric, looking for the long-coffin shaped box he waited in.

She groaned when she found it, the coffin hidden beneath piles of luggage, worn, leathery boxes knocking against each other in the waves. Sookie cast a quick glance over her shoulder to ensure no curious eyes had followed her, then blasted a shock of power at the tower of belongings, blowing them aside until the coffin revealed itself before her. She knocked three times, their signal, then watched as a cloud of dust puffed up, the lid sliding open. Eric peered at her warily, his face gaunt and pale.

"We're just offshore, docking in under an hour. You must see," she grinned, trying to temper the excitement in her voice.

"I need–" he began but she shushed him, reaching out her forearm. The times she'd been able to come down and feed him had been few and far between, the journey across the Atlantic far more tumultuous than she'd expected. It was long, arduous, and packed to the brim with humans all searching for a second life in a New World. His fangs sunk into the thin skin of her arm quickly, the familiar pressure of the languid pulls as he drank, using his other hand to pull her closer, to stroke her side in gratitude. Sookie felt the rough coating of his tongue close her wound, his formerly-hungry eyes half-lidded in satisfaction.

"Come on," he beckoned, pulling on his arm. He extracted himself from the coffin, stretching though he did not need to do so, then lifted her into his arms, traveling effortlessly atop the cargo and depositing her on the rickety wooden stairs.

"I've been waiting to do that," he grinned cheekily, pinching her butt as they climbed.

"Hey!" she protested, though she smiled over her shoulder. They reached the top deck, walking to the bow of the ship. A few humans cast curious glances their way, taking in the tall, striking stranger who had not shown face once the entire journey. Sookie sensed some trepidation within them, but most were preoccupied with the sight before them: a new world, expansive and raw and waiting.

The bright stars above them gave the shoreline an ethereal glow, the thick trees crowded together all the way up to the beach. Nestled between the gravid forest was an outcropping, a man-made fort that flickered with signs of life. Humans could be heard in the distance, running up and down the dock, shouting to each other, preparing for the people and supplies on the approaching vessel. Their vessel.

"What do you think?" Sookie asked, looking up at Eric's stoic face, his silence.

"I think it's incredible," he finally said.

"What do you picture?" she asked, her arms around his waist, the jut of his hips in her stomach.

"A farm with just us on it. A small cottage. You, naked, in front of a fire." He winked at her at the last part, his arm draped around her shoulder.

"Is the fire outside?" she asked playfully.

"No, inside. We've built a nice fireplace in the cottage complete with a stone chimney," he explained.

"Oh, of course," Sookie smiled. "That sounds nice."

"No one can find us on the farm. It's just you and me there, our own spot amongst the trees."

She rested her head against his shoulder, joining him in the scene. It was possible, it was attainable. Their opportunity spread before them, endless and open. Full of potential, of hope. A new start and a new foundation. They could live peacefully together in this world, in the cottage of his dreams, naked and warm in front of the fire.

**Louisiana, 2020**

"Sophie-Anne is here to see you, Your Majesty."

"Madeline, shut up," Eric snapped.

He hated when she called him 'Your Majesty' and she knew it. Madeline chuckled wildly, flitting from Eric's office with glee. Eric sighed, leaning back in his seat behind his desk at Fangtasia. After Russell's death, a particularly bloody coup resulted in a monarchy not by state, but by region. As newly-appointed King of the South, Eric was responsible for all territory north to Washington DC and south to the tip of Florida. It was a natural growth of power, what with his age and the fact that he was the one who personally ended Russell's reign in Mississippi. He wasn't exactly thrilled with the prospect, but Sookie encouraged him to try it on for size, to attempt to maintain peace and order. Plus, she enjoyed watching him torture rule-breakers just about as much as anyone.

Sophie-Anne sauntered into his office, her head bowed. He preferred Fangtasia to the regal set-ups the other area Kings and Queens had, but that didn't mean he commanded any less respect. Especially from the likes of Sophie-Anne.

"Your Majesty," she said solemnly, face to the floor.

"What is it," he replied shortly, clicking his pen with his finger. He could sense Sookie's arrival in the club, her heartbeat louder than the rest, their bond glowing. He wished to be out on the floor or back here with her, preferably naked on top of the desk.

"I wish to thank you once more for sparing my life–" she began, but he cut her off.

"I did not spare you. Sookie did. Now leave before I decide against her mercy," he spat.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"I trust there are no problems in New Orleans?" he asked with only a hint of threat.

"No, Your Majesty."

"Good. Leave," he reiterated, standing. After the debacle with Russell, Eric had wanted to kill Sophie-Anne and Bill. He wanted to do it slowly, he wanted to draw it out, he wanted to make it painful for the both of them. But Sookie had stopped him. She said she'd seen too much death, too much suffering. Plus, it was smart to keep friends closer, but smarter to keep enemies closer. She saw how they would be indebted to Eric, the loyalty that would result in lives spared. And, as always, Sookie had been right.

When Sophie-Anne slipped out the door, she was replaced by Sookie herself.

"Where were you?" Eric asked, eying the shopping bags in her hands.

"Pam," Sookie explained with a sigh, draping herself on the couch in exhaustion.

Eric rooted through one of the bags, pulling out a particularly lacy pair of underwear. He raised his eyebrow in question.

"Looks like I need to thank my Child," Eric tutted, dropping the string back down.

"That one was my idea, actually," Sookie grinned, reaching out to him. He took the invitation gladly, wrapping her in his arms. She was warm against him, right and sure. He was struck with the feeling of home, so intense and true. She relaxed into his touch, her nose brushing against his neck.

"So when do I get to see you in them?" he asked, toying with the strap of her bra beneath her shirt.

"Patience," Sookie scolded playfully, "We have time."

That, in and of itself, was their new and permanent truth. Their endless timeline stretched before them, unabridged and uninterrupted. It yawned wide and open, full of potential and possibility and hope. He embraced it as he embraced her, beneath him and around him, let it encompass him fully.

There was no rush. There was no wait.

Together, they had time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end! thank you so much for reading, especially the ladies that have been with me all along, commenting on every chapter. it's been a ride and i appreciate every word, every thought. thank you for spending your time with me, whether you're in quarantine or not i truly appreciate it. as always, stay healthy and stay safe x


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